


blackened sun.

by NinoReed



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series, Shin Megami Tensei
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Bad end, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Read at Your Own Risk, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinoReed/pseuds/NinoReed
Summary: Joker signs Yaldabaoth's contract and humanity drowns in the sin of sloth. The Phantom Thieves push themselves to the limit to steal the hearts of the public, but Yusuke and the others struggle to ignore the disturbing changes in their leader.





	1. the calm; it watches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in a nutshell: akira loses his marbles and embarks on Emperor Confidant rank 10 romance route.
> 
> warning: keep an eye on the tags and my chapter warnings.

The Phantom Thieves trusted Joker, once upon a time.

Each of them had suffered at the hands of rotten adults – peers and family both. But now, they suffer for different reasons: Not enough time for those they held close, not enough freedom to indulge in their hobbies or side jobs, and not enough consideration from the one they crowned leader.

He knew what he was doing when the devil waved the contract in front of his face.

Safe Rooms in Mementos are far from comfortable. The chairs are hard, the air is suffocating, and there’s the occasional screeching of wheels against rusted tracks. In the belly of Mementos was the heart of humanity, no longer accessible to any mortal. The door had remained shut to their every spell and attack. But since the false God had placed his ‘trust’ in the Phantom Thieves, Joker wondered if they had any _need_ to see the Holy Grail a second time.

Human’s had no business staring at such a sacred artifact, but they placed all their beliefs in it, praying it would bring them some form of salvation for all their sins.

His legs are starting to ache from standing in the same spot for so long, toeing the edge of the platform for a train that will never come. Their supplies were low, nothing beyond a simple Bead that they reserved for emergencies. Exhausted limbs and torso were hardly warranting of an ‘emergency’, despite how much his body begged for it.

“Hey man. How many more of these we got?” Skull’s voice is tired, drained from their nonstop voyage down to the halfway point of Akzeriyyuth. “It’s getting late, ain’t it?”

The problem with Mementos is the inability to tell time. Red light spills onto the floor like paint, dyeing the already-rusted tracks an angry brown. Sometimes, he would look up at the sky over Shibuya and it would look just like the colors staining the floor here. He wondered if the others could see it too.

“Two more paths.” he replies simply, stepping away from the ledge.

Skull reacts as expected. His expression collapses, body heaving with a sigh as he scratches the back of his neck. A nervous habit Sakamoto Ryuji would do if he didn’t particularly agree with something. Which was growing rather frequent, Joker notes absently.

“Don’t ya think we should... you know...?” he gestures vaguely to their remaining teammates.

Panther is seated on one of the chairs, forearms resting on her thighs with hands clasped together. She avoids making direct eye contact, pretends she doesn’t care what they’re saying. Though Joker knows her acting skills left much to the imagination. Fox on the other hand had abandoned the seat a handful of minutes back, leaning against the wall. His body language refuses to betrays his fatigue. Pretending he was okay just for the sake of the Phantom Thieves... typical Fox.

Mona, Noir, and Queen suffered the least of the brunt from their recent excursion, opting to scout ahead with Oracle for their next target while everyone else had been granted at least ten minutes to regain their strength. Ten was easier, he decided, because the number sounded bigger than something like five. If it appealed to the mind, they could kill something as short as ten minutes. How odd the mind worked.

“If we stop today, we’ll have to put in twice the effort tomorrow,” Joker counters. “Those requests come in every day.”

Skull exhales, tapping the toe of his foot against the pavement. “I get it, but the Shadow back there gave us hell,” he pauses, as if he’s carefully selecting each word. “I ain’t doubting your decisions as leader either.”

The unspoken loyalty in Skull’s voice should be enough to comfort him. They followed him into Mementos and back, allowed him to make the calls and sign away their lives all because they believed him. Faith in one person, however, could only go so far, and Joker wonders what could shake this foundation of trust between them. Skull allowed himself to be guided by his heart. If Joker placed logic over ‘what was right’, maybe Skull would leave him.

It was a curious thing to wonder.

“We’re back.”

Joker’s eyebrows furrow as the remainder of his team emerges from escalator. Oracle keeps her gaze downcast and Noir takes the seat adjacent to Panther. There’s a tension between him and them that he isn’t quite sure how to crack.

“Three targets,” Queen reports tiredly, her arms folded. “and it seems there are two more on the floor after that.”

“We’ll definitely need more energy if we’re gonna continue,” Mona chips in. “They’re a lot stronger than the last bunch.”

He listens. It would be rude to ignore all their efforts. Five targets within range, an unknown amount lying beyond the two floors they searched. “We’ll go to the next floor, rest, then continue.”

Much like Skull, they hesitate. He’s not surprised. “I understand you want to finish the requests...” Queen starts slowly. “We should _really_ return home, Joker. You exhaust us now and none of us will have the energy to continue tomorrow. We can take care of the three Shadows, but no more.”

“Not all of us need to be here.” he says bluntly.

Mona frowns up at him. “Joker, these Shadows are nothing like we’ve fought before. They’re stronger. Even against four of us plus Oracle’s buffs, they’re going to put up a fight.”

His jaw tightens, teeth clipping at the tip of his tongue. A familiar well of frustration inflates in his gut. How could none of them see _this_ was their life now, or rather just as important as the life they had as students? The protest sits in his mouth, prepared for taking off when Mona interjects a second time.

“Besides, I...” discomfort flickers across his face, head drooping. “...I feel a bit odd.”

... _What_?

“What?” Joker says. ‘ _What’s wrong?_ ’ he wants to ask, and yet, something stills his tongue.

“I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the generous amount of Shadows crawling around, but I can’t help feeling on edge, like something’s going to come out at us.”

“Would it be better to split up?”

Joker hears Oracle push from the seat before her voice reaches his ears. “M-Mona’s not feeling well,” she trips over her own words, hands tightened into fists. “I was thinking we could have that doctor look at him since you know her...”

“It’s not _that_ serious! Besides, she’s not a vet— n-not to imply that I’m a _cat_ or anything...” Mona trails off. It’s as if there’s a wedge between them, cutting off proper communication from one person to the other. Joker has overcome many physical obstacles, but this intangible wall proves difficult. “I probably just need some rest, that’s all.”

He can’t put two pieces together if they were going to beat around the bush. “What happened while you were scouting?” he asks. It’s a simple question that would only need a simple answer.

“Mona-chan,” Noir’s voice weaves over to him. She chews her lower lip. “He lost control, or I guess you could say he ‘lost the transformation’. We were thrown out of the Mona bus, and we can’t go very far on foot, so...”

Skull curses. “Shit... you guys alright?”

“Mona?” Panther frowns, and Mona flinches beneath her concerned gaze.

“Don’t worry about me, Panther,” he assures through bruised pride. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.” Unspoken: I hope, or so Joker assumes.

Mona didn’t just ‘lose a transformation’. His refusal to admit the true story before his teammates was not unexpected either. For such a small body, he housed much dignity and confidence in his skills. Having Oracle bring to light a blemish in his reflection did little to help, stoking the pitiful embers that was his pride until they grew into hungry flames.

Joker could not blame him; weaknesses were repulsive, and each one of them had one.

Pride, loyalty, love, and devotion would destroy all of them if they were not careful.

It’s a good thing Joker _is_.

“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea!” Mona snaps at him, foot stomping against the stone floor. “I don’t want to leave _because_ I’m not feeling well, alright? I just think pulling back for the sake of everyone else is the better idea. You can’t keep driving your team into the ground, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re completely out of Takemi’s medicine too.”

An _abundance_ of pride that would do them all well if he were to share it.

Leaving now would mean having to search for the five Shadows _again_ coupled with several more requests to add on to today’s batch. He already feels the stress of reading through the Phansite, of the endless barrage of Mishima Yuuki’s messages.

From Queen and Fox’s silent staring to Oracle and Noir’s hesitant gazes, Joker knows he doesn’t stand much of a fight against majority rule.

Next time, he would settle for going by himself.

“Right, sorry,” he mutters, mind scrabbling for more words. “We’ll go home, but we can’t do this again tomorrow.”

There is no need to explain, not when nobody questions him, and Joker cannot respond to suspicious frowns. He almost _feels_ the questions clamoring at the back of their teeth. He knows they wish to demand where his head is, why they were being pushed so hard. But he does not hold answers capable of evoking level-headed responses from any of them.

Pushing through a brief film of reluctance, they retrace their steps. His feet ache, but he’s not willing to ask Mona to transform. The last thing he needed was for everyone to hurt themselves and be unable to navigate the rest of the way out of Mementos.

“Couldn’t we all just ride in Necronomicon?” Skull grumbles.

Oracle’s voice floats through their ears. “ _Nice try; there’s only room for one up here_.” Without the Mona bus, she had no reason to be on the ground with them. It was better for her to navigate from a safe distance. “ _Don’t worry; we’ll be out of here soon_.”

“That’s what you said three floors ago...”

“ _Should’ve rested up a bit more at that last save point!_ ”

They dissolve into childish banter for a handful of seconds before realizing they’re too tired to have a full-on debate about the workings of a flying Persona. The look on Panther’s face is nothing short of amused before she nudges Skull in the arm, telling him to stop distracting Oracle from her work.

Noir sticks by Mona’s side, eyebrows pressed together in worry despite his assurances that he’s fine. Queen looks just as convinced as she does. She glances back at Joker, but he doesn’t return her gaze. They could discuss this once they arrived in Tokyo, maybe split whatever horrid bill Takemi would place on the counter for them to pay towards.

Or in Joker’s case, consume an extra cup of questionable medicine for compensation.

The walls have shed their scarlet coloring by the time Fox speaks to him. They’re both a few good steps behind the rest of the team when it happens. “You’ve changed.”

Joker blinks at him. “I feel the same as ever.”

“Is that so?” Fox mutters, disappointment rushing through his eyes. As if Joker is supposed to know _exactly_ what he was talking about! “Your orders are stricter, you push us through exhaustion, and you came in less prepared than you had yesterday.”

Annoyance pricks at him. “I wasn’t aware you were taking notes.”

“Do not take that the wrong way. I am simply worried about you given how uncharacteristically you have been acting, and I am more than aware of the task at hand. It places a great deal of stress on all of us, but I imagine you carry the brunt of it,” he steps aside, allows Joker to walk up the dead escalator before him. “I want you to know that I’m here for you, as is everyone else. Should you need to pass an errand to once of us, we would be more than happy to oblige.”

“It would have been too much to ask one of you to help steal those last five hearts,” Joker says, unintending to mean offense. Apparently, it isn’t the best wording.

“We would be willing to help in a more _realistic_ manner,” Fox responds slowly, a sharper edge to his words. “Had I more stamina, I would have gone with you into the depths, but I too feel myself waning.”

He watches his teammates from the back. Their feet drag, some wiping at their forehead as best they can with the masks plastered to their faces. Out of all of them, Mona’s lagging movements showcase his struggling.

Joker’s sudden guilt is only intensified when he meets Fox’s gaze. _Difficult to read_ , he thinks, unable to stop the pang of frustration in his heart. Why couldn’t he read him as easily as he could Skull or Queen?

 _What is your weakness, Fox_?

“Sorry,” he apologizes for a second time that day. “I’m grateful you want to help though.” His words are true, but Fox regards him warily, and Joker can no longer look at him.

Despite his feeble attempt to mend his slip-up from the safe room, Mona protests when he offers to carry him.

He doesn’t say anything after that, not until their scarlet surroundings ripple like water, melting into the dull colors of the Shibuya station. Slowly, noises surge in and out of his ears from human voices to the roaring of trains as they sprint loudly on their metal tracks. The MetaNav welcomes their return in its feminine voice, and Akira tries not to grimace. Sickeningly sweet of it to continue aiding them, disgusting to think of _where_ the app came from, or rather _who_ it came from.

They needn’t concern themselves with that however...

“Boy, I’m beat...” Ryuji exhales loudly, collapsing against the wall.

“We did have a few close calls today,” Makoto chimes in. Her eyes dart to the clock hanging on the subway walls. “It’s evening already. We should probably get Morgana looked at and then return home,” she pauses, cautiously looking to Akira. “That is unless you have something else that needs taken care of.”

Akira is not the one who responds.

“I’m fine, actually. Just tired,” Morgana meows, back leg scratching at his ear. “I guess it was just the air of Mementos that wore me down.”

Ryuji scoffs. “Uhhh, yeah, ain’t buying that. Though now that I think about it, I don’t know any nearby vets that we could go to. ‘Sides, they’re pretty expensive if you just rush in on emergency.”

“I don’t need a vet cause I’m not a cat!” so says Morgana, the ‘human’ with black fur all over his body. “Akira knows that doctor in Yongen, so he can take me there with Futaba if that’ll make you feel better.”

“We just want to make sure you’re okay,” Haru says.

“And I _am_ , really! Or at least _now_ I am,” Morgana sighs, tail and ears drooping. “But you shouldn’t be worrying for something that could turn out to be nothing.”

The proper thing to do would offer Morgana a ride in his bag. After his little spat in Mementos about being carried, Akira wonders if it’s the right thing to say at this moment. Morgana’s body is slack from fatigue, muscles tightening the minute someone insisted on him being cared for. They could use a trip to Takemi’s clinic with how little their supplies are. There was also the treasure they had to dispose of as well...

With the day still young, maybe he could return the ones that had a place to belong.

Morgana, medicine, returning or keeping treasure – everything came together despite knowing such tasks would carry him into the night. Returning early had done them more harm than good. All that was missing was the influx of messages to clog his inbox.

He too is tired, but he could’ve continued unlike the rest of them.

Akira hopes his frustration doesn’t lace into his voice when he responds. “We’ll meet back here tomorrow on my call. I’ll gather what we need tonight so we can be better prepared.”

“And what are you going to do if _you_ run yourself dry?” Makoto questions.

“I’m fine,” he insists. They look at him. He’s had enough of their cautious eyes for one day. The pressure building on his shoulders was not alleviated by their worried-fretful concoction spilled into their faces. “You all did well today.”

“Wait,” Ann steps forward, fingers tightened around the strap of her school bag. “Hey, Akira, is there something wrong?” she shifts her weight to one side, as if doing so would help jostle her mind. “You know you have us, right? If something was bothering you, you could talk to anyone.”

Something bothering him? If the weight of stealing hearts at an intensity thrice as hard could be _considered_ ‘wrong’, then she struck the nail on the head. He dismisses her. “Don’t worry about me.”

“That’s not gonna help...” Ryuji murmurs.

 _Nothing I can do there_. He could talk to them, after they so willingly offered to be attentive ears to a wreath of troubles. It wasn’t something they didn’t know anyway, was it? Perhaps one day he would take them up on that offer. For now, he meets them with silence.

“We should get going,” Makoto says tiredly. “You’ll contact us when you’re ready to head out, right?”

He can only nod. So, he does.

Everyone splits up, fatigue or reluctance or _both_ clinging to their feet as they go their separate ways. He swears Yusuke looks over his shoulder at him, but he thinks nothing more of the matter.

“Um...” Futaba hums from where she is crouched next to Morgana. Even though they avoid direct eye contact, Akira knows she is talking to _him_. “Are you going to come back to Leblanc tonight?”

But Morgana answers anyway. “You haven’t been there in a while, have you?”

Akira frowns, puzzled. “I was there two days ago—”

“You know what I mean,” Morgana counters, the tip of his tail flicking. “I meant to stay the night. It’s gotten a lot quieter in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I was sure he’d appreciate the silence.”

Futaba shakes her head, hand patting Morgana absentmindedly, effectively cutting off his words. “Sojiro’s worried about you too. He used to ask me where you are at nights, but I never really know what to say. I think he noticed that I had no clue either, so he stopped asking,” her eyes are narrowed behind her glasses. “Akira, when are you going to come home?”

The word ‘home’ was not something he would associate with Leblanc. Once upon a time, he’d be more than happy to call that humble café a safe place. But he couldn’t see Leblanc the same way Futaba or Morgana saw it. His ‘home’ was in a ‘middle-class’ house teetering on the edge of ‘lower-class’ out in the countryside. The clam that would wrap him up within the walls of the café had faded, much like the faded paint on Leblanc’s bathroom walls.

“Leblanc is not home,” he echoes his thoughts, unmindful when Futaba flinches at the apathy in his voice.

“I-I know it’s not your _home-_ home...,” she pushes herself to her feet, gripping her hands and wringing them with shaky fingers. A nervous habit, much like Ryuji’s neck-scratching.

Morgana’s ear twitches. He makes no move towards Akira. “Wherever you’re going, just be careful.” (Astonishment flutters inside his chest. Was Morgana truly going to let this go so easily?) “Come on, Futaba, Sojiro’s probably waiting for you.”

She nods, an affirmative noise rumbling in the back of her throat. Her gaze, much like Yusuke, lingers on him as well before her feet carry her away. A part of him worries that she’ll be struck by the anxiety of being lost in a sea of people. Futaba _had_ gotten much better with forcing herself outside, but Akira could sense her nerves were strung tightly.

“I don’t know where you’re staying,” Morgana continues. Ah, so he _wasn’t_ dropping it. “But it can’t be better than Leblanc. You’re worrying everyone, Akira. I know you tend to carry the load, but Yusuke and Ann are right when they say we can help out too.”

He rolls his shoulder when the strap of his schoolbag slants, bringing it closer to his neck. “Don’t be.”

Morgana’s fur bristles, a small growl of irritation bubbling from his mouth. “You won’t talk anymore either,” he huffs. “Sometimes I hang back like this, and you go off to these places that I can’t follow. I don’t sense the Metaverse, but something similar—”

“Stop following me,” Akira dismisses sharply. At the jolt of shock that trembles Morgana, he reels himself in. “Sorry, I...” he pinches the space between his eyebrows, eyes screwing shut briefly. “You guys wouldn’t understand,” _because you can’t_ see _it_. “but I know what I’m doing, and all I ask is that you trust me.”

Silence weaves in the cracks between them. In just a handful of seconds, it grows and expands, threatening to break intangible walls that would undoubtedly lead down a path that could involve yelling and he already looks like a lunatic speaking to a cat in public as it is. Shouting would only make it twice as worse.

Morgana’s attention snags on something behind Akira, and he looks over his shoulder. Futaba’s bright hair and unique attire is easy to pick out of a sea of people. “I gotta get her home. We’re not done talking about this though, so don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“Get on the trains before the rush hour.” Akira says.

“I know.”

He waits, watches Futaba scoop Morgana into her arms before diving back into the crowd, unmoving until they’re out of sight. Akira would have to prepare something to tell Morgana; there was no way to explain the Velvet Room to someone who couldn’t see it.

But hadn’t they _all_ been in that room once?

...He had things to do, and no time to ponder over the potential of selective amnesia. He’s almost afraid to mention the existence of the Velvet Room. It’d be much better if they all thought him ‘daydreaming’ in the Metaverse than ever step foot into that circular room stuffed with prison cells and dyed carpeting and walls befitting of the room’s name.

 _Untouchable_ ’s neon green sign is alive with life, and he has at least a few more hours until Munehisa Iwai closes shop.

His hand barely grazes the knob when a familiar voice reaches out to him. He could continue to ignore it, walk into the shop and pretend he only heard the bell and not some young girl’s voice.

“My master wishes to speak with you,” Lavenza insists, the jail door swinging open loudly. Nobody seems to hear or see it – they never did. “Your options are limited tonight, trickster.”

She too has changed. Not just physically, her current form the result of a fusion between two young girls with matching eye patches, but the light in her eyes is snuffed out. There’s a distant melancholy to them, something that begs Akira to... to... he isn’t entirely sure. But he sees it again when he steps into the void of the Velvet Room. Her careful footsteps are his only warning before dark blues and purples swim into his vision, flickering into red and black before attaining their normal color.

When he comes to, he’s lying on an all too familiar wooden plank.

A faint ringing vibrates off the prison cell walls. It curls and stretches like the waves of a quiet ocean, whispering of days long gone. He doesn’t know if the residents can hear it. No one ever craned their neck, no one looked to him with furrowed eyebrows and said, “Did you hear something?”.

Over time, he found himself concluding it was all connected to his first step into madness.

It is here, away from the drone of city life and from familiar faces, where he can _think_. There’s a yearning deep inside him that aches for the sunlight of a new day, of the strong scent of coffee practically drilled into the walls of the tiny café hidden in an alley of Yongen-Jaya. Dare he say, he’s come to miss the cacophony of the Tokyo train stations and the gurgling of Shujin Academy as students and teachers rush from one destination to another.

Kurusu Akira can’t return to what’s been given up.

The devil who claims he is their God waits patiently at his desk. His lips are drawn in a permanent sneer, teeth like broken glass. At his side, Lavenza stands with a stare as blank as stone. The Velvet Room has not changed since his last visit or the one before that.

He can’t bring himself to mind, even as he pushes himself to his feet. They’ve extended him the courtesy of forgoing the chains and prison shirt, at least: A taunting, placating relief among the many faults of this realm.

“Exactly one-hundred hearts stolen,” the false God says, words gritting. “Well done,” the praise rings hollow, failing to drown out the ringing only his ears can hear. “I have kept my end of the bargain; the Phantom Thieves still exist in the distorted hearts of man. However...”

The girl cradles the tome in her left arm. Pages imprinted with unreadable texts hastily swish to the left, in the same manner as a child flipping through a picture book. “...There is one concern my master has,” she says, voice vapid. “The sins of man have been stolen from each Palace the Phantom Thieves infiltrated. To avoid more Palaces, we have had you collect the hearts of the masses, but there seems to be a miscalculation.”

 _‘...A new Palace?’_ his mind supplies when his mouth cannot.

“You should make use of the app you and your team have been given. Lavenza,” (she claps the tome shut, and he sees a flicker of emotion across her delicate face. It contrasts greatly from her earlier demeanor.) “is to only give you the necessary Personas to help complete this task. You understand that just as well, don’t you, my dear?”

Her eyes bore into Akira.

He avoids her pinning

( _pleading)_

gaze.

“Of course, Yaldabaoth.”

“Good,” he says dismissively, fingers steepled. “Now as for our Wildcard, allowing a Palace to erupt is unacceptable. Therefore, you know what you must do.”

He could practically see the bewildered stares of the other Phantom Thieves against the backdrop of closed eyes. They were tired, annoyed, appalled as he guided them back to Mementos, and they would do it again and again and again until they all dropped from exhaustion. One by one or maybe in clumps. Who knew?

Lavenza’s eyes slide to the floor when he speaks. The ringing fades from his surroundings, dissolving once more into the background. “I do.”

The edges of his rough laughter cuts into the unsettling atmosphere. Once more, he looks to Lavenza. “We’ve decided to help you this time. As a reward for consistent work, we’ll grant you a power unlike any other.” She hands him the book, and he lays it on its back. Its pages tremble as the cover is thrown back by some invisible force. “There is a small fee. You should not underestimate the privilege I am going to give you,” he looks up, sneer twisting and breaking his mouth. “Come.”

Akira _really_ doesn’t want to, but his feet urge him on. He’s signed a contract, he’s taken one too many Personas from these beings, and he could not unstick his tongue from declining.

The tome is open to a being with a silver body made of unequal rectangles with a sheen that reminds him of the armor worn in medieval tales. Its square face has no eyes, but it stares back even though life has yet to fill its ‘lungs’. He cannot make out the text that lines the top of the page and it does little to quell the unease bubbling in his veins.

He does, however, recognize the symbols lining the margin. This Persona excelled in physical and almighty spells, a miniature God of destruction.

“To summon Saklas, I require something special. No amount of yen will cover the expense you will need to bring it from the pages.”

Yaldabaoth’s stare is patronizing, and Akira’s stomach recoils in anger. He prayed on Akira’s anger and frustration. Who the person was that Yaldaboath’s physical body truly belonged to, Akira cannot say, but it does not make it any less unsettling. Had the true Igor foolishly signed a contract with the God of Control? Or were they just unlucky?

“What is it you want?” he asks.

Dark amusement twitches his face. “So you _are_ interested. You would be signing one more contract – something between you and I to further cement the deal. Should you cast away the Persona for good, then I will relinquish the connection.”

His teeth grit together. “Cut to the point.”

Yaldabaoth grins.

It’s infuriating.

“Trickster, I require one thing,” he snaps his fingers and a plethora of tarot cards materialize into existence, whispering across the wooden table as they are laid out before them. Lavenza’s sudden gasp gives off warning signs in his brain, but his attention is dragged back to Yaldabaoth. “I will allow you to decide which arcana you wish to break in order to bring forth Saklas.”

His heart stutters before it drops into his stomach. He hears his foot scuff against the rug as he stumbles back. Each card waits patiently beneath the weak light of the Velvet Room. Akira blinks, hard. “I don’t understand.”

“Shall I choose for you then?” he chuckles, gloved finger tapping the corner of a card. Akira cannot see the name, only that it has the number IX.

He lunges forward, yanks The Hermit card closer to his side of the desk. “Don’t touch that,” he snaps. Yaldabaoth only coughs his laughter. “I don’t need this Persona. I can steal as many hearts as I want without it.”

“How arrogant,” but he returns to clasping his fingers as he always did, hooked nose seeming to _drape_ down his hands. What a creepy abomination of a man. “The pace you are going at will not last you long in the palace of the people. I estimate you can only steal another two hundred hearts before your exhaustion catches up to you and the rest of the Phantom Thieves. A Wildcard is powerful, but even you have your limits. You cannot change others on your own.”

Lavenza’s gaze snaps to him. “Trickster, if I may suggest the Strength arcana—”

“This is not _your_ decision, Lavenza,” Yaldabaoth’s voice dips into malice. “You would be wise not to offer yourself as a sacrifice.”

Her mouth trembles, fists tightening at her side before she backpedals, helplessly looking at the cards. “To sacrifice an arcana for a Persona... I sense tremendous power from Saklas, but I wonder if you’d be willing to take such a risk. Placing your trust in,” she pauses. “in... a single Persona, is unwise.”

 _Placing your trust in a God is unwise_.

“Then you can continue to use the limited power you have now and watch helplessly as your team crumbles,” Yaldabaoth’s words hold an unmeasurable weight to them. It is one that Akira does not want to test. “You care about your friends, do you not? Someone worthy of carrying my contract should never allow their heart to dictate their decisions.”

“What happens to the arcana that is sacrificed?” Akira asks instead. Matter of the heart be damned; he didn’t have time for any of this nonsense. “What are you going to do to them?”

“Nothing,” Yaldabaoth answers, and Akira is shocked to find there is no hint of a lie on his face, a lack of ulterior motive lying within the voice of this devil. “You will lose the arcana, therefore be unable to summon the Ultimate Persona, but in its place will be Saklas,” he slides a handful of the cards closer to Akira. “Since you are having a difficult time choosing, perhaps you would like to select from my pile.”

The light glints off the sheen of the tarot cards. Each one – Chariot, Lovers, Emperor, Moon, Star, Sun – is not something he could so carelessly throw to a God. But Akira knows he cannot risk losing someone capable of using Personas, and he cannot bring himself to imagine a scenario where his friends fall one by one. If it meant severing ties with someone else to keep them all safe, then—

“This one,” he doesn’t look, other than he knows he is pointing farthest from the ones associated with the Phantom Thieves.

Lavenza’s apathy does little to ease his mind.

A snap of Yaldabaoth’s fingers and the cards dissolve from existence, disappearing into some pocket space Akira would never have access to. He holds the Moon Arcana between his index and middle finger, slipping it into the gutter of the book. The yellow-tinted pages cough up dust before they glow, ink burning harsher and bolder until they ooze into the spine. It touches the edge of the card then freezes.

Agony rips through him, biting in his heart and lancing through his body. He catches himself on the edge of the desk before his fingers slip there too, and his throat burns from the fire that practically crawls through his body. His scream bounces back at him, effectively cutting off the minute the tome is clamped shut. The shock of the sudden waves of pain steel his limbs, numb even though he pushes himself to his elbows, breath sawing in and out of him.

“You...” he heaves, breath shuddering and breaking. “You didn’t... warn me it’d do that.”

It is not Yaldabaoth who answers but rather a being about half times more his height, standing behind both chair and desk. The image from the book brought to life, Saklas’ unseeing face bores into him. ‘ _I am Saklas. Do not be deterred by the temptations of humanity, and my power will be yours._ ’ and, much like every other Persona, it explodes in particles of white light. ‘ _Summon me if you desire power_.’

Akira shudders against the carpet, hand pressing to his chest as if to make sure his heart is still there. He practically feels it bumping against his ribcage, blood pounding loudly in his head as it thrashes against his brain.

The exhaustion from earlier begins to settle in, and he finds himself uncaring if they decided to leave him there on the rug. Come get his unmoving body if it would be such an issue. Maybe rip out another arcana or two if they truly felt like it, damn them. Aside from the burning mere seconds ago, Akira doesn’t feel any different, and in that moment, he’s too drained to care.

Consequences would always be dealt with, but he can choose when and where to deal with them. Lying half-conscious on the floor of the Velvet Room was not the place for it.

“A wise decision, trickster...” Yaldabaoth says ominously. “You have my full word that you will not regret it.”

Lavenza only watches silently, her face almost cadaverous for a reason Akira is unable to discern.

His voice and her stare are the last things Akira wants to hear or see before succumbing to a world of sleep. But he never had much choice when it came to anything in his life.


	2. the suspicion; it thickens

When he comes to, he realizes the floor is just as hard as the Shibuya crosswalk. Through tired, half-opened eyes he sees the pale blue walls and ceiling before finally noticing the barred door. Strong iron bars that he knows are unbreakable even with the aid of a Persona. He ponders what he must look like from the other side of the cell.

His mind scrambles for information, recounting the events of the previous day until they all fall into their proper slots. He can pick out the exact moment they stepped into Mementos, the shared look he gave his teammates before they descended deeper and deeper into the belly of such a monstrous dungeon.

Trembling, he pushes himself to his feet, collapsing against the cushioned wall the minute he stands. Confusion sweeps inside of him.

‘ _What happened?_ ’, ‘ _Where am I?_ ’, ‘ _Why am I here—’, ‘Where_ is _here?_ ’

He does not register the sound of footsteps until the hairs on the back of his neck prick.

“Joker...?” Yusuke gasps quietly.

Clad in a dark coat and white mask, there is no doubt this man is Joker. It would be wrong to confuse him for someone else. He’s memorized his face, his body, his actions, and his voice. Silent as a ghost or not, he knows him. Something in his mind screams that he’s okay, that it’s going to be alright now, that they would find the others and escape this bizarre world.

Yusuke _doesn’t_ recognize Joker.

He wants to move, drag his feet that feel as heavy as the bars of the prison, but he can’t. Not when the door itself melts into pale light, lifting into fractals that ascend to a higher plane. Yusuke wishes he could join them.

“Let’s go,” Joker says.

Yusuke blinks, eyes slanting into a frown. His fingers ache, and he realizes he’s clenching his arms so tightly, enough to feel the light sweat from his palms bleeding into the fabric of his shirt. It’s oddly cold for such an insulated confinement. “Where?”

“I’ll explain everything.”

He turns.

Fright jolts him into action, as if horrified the fractals of the iron bars would return from their little skip in the other plane and manifest back into a locked door, separating him and Joker and the Phantom Thieves once again. He only realizes how childish this is when the prison cell remains the same as it had minutes ago.

“Tell me what’s happened,” he says to Joker’s retreating back.

Joker says nothing.

Yusuke feels an all-too familiar prick of frustration. “Where are the others?”

It shouldn’t be hard to resist flinching when Joker stops walking, coattails dancing around his legs as he turns. Yusuke looks, harder this time, at Joker’s face. Behind the mask, storm gray eyes, cool and indecipherable, jaw set as if he is clenching his teeth – he is still their leader. This was the same person that lead them from Palace to Palace, the same person who cared for them, the same person, the same person, the same—

“Why are you shaking?”

He’s _not_. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” there’s a beat of silence fluttering between them before Joker springs into action, hand gripping tight to Yusuke’s wrist as if to break skin.

He winces. Joker doesn’t stop.

The command to ‘let go’ dances on his tongue, pressing against the backs of his teeth when Joker graces him with a verbal response. “What are you afraid of, Yusuke?”

“What am I...?” Air hisses out of him as he’s roughly jerked forward. He tries, he _tries_ , to maintain a glare that he _knows_ could intimidate others – intimidate _Shadows_. But Joker was not a Shadow. He tugs back against a sudden twist _,_ recoiling hard at the pain that surges part way down his forearm. “Unhand me, Joker.” Yusuke warns through his growing unease.

“You should be honored,” he responds, a dark smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Your God has decided to give you a second chance.”

Ice freezes his veins, clings to every muscle at an inexplainable chill that clutches his palpitating heart. His chest was going to burst, explode right in front of them, regurgitate that mewling organ at their feet, paint the stone red, and maybe Joker would cringe back in disgust or maybe he’d remain unmoving.

It doesn’t. For as fragile as a heart he has, it is not a bomb that is so easily set off by an eerie smirk painted on the mouth of one of his closest friends.

“What nonsense,” he utters absently. “Do you hear yourself?”

“It is you whose ears and eyes that are shut.”

He can count seconds before the mixture of fear and confusion and anger spurs him on to push Joker, force him as far away as he can. His free hand leaps forward to shove at Joker’s chest.

Joker has always been quicker though.

They catch one another in an awkward, brief parry when Joker catches that wrist as well. There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with having his hands immobile. It awakens the remaining terror that stubbornly slept through this entire ordeal, tells him this is dangerous,

(this is Joker)

( _no, it’s_ not)

and the wind gushes out of him when the sole of Joker’s foot meets his gut.

His wrists are wrenched free not of his own accord, and his eyes screw shut, prepares him for when the stone floor will crash against every knob of his spine.

“ _You’re afraid of_ me _, aren’t you?_ ”

Inokashira’s light stabs at his eyes and sound spills into his ears. Talking, laughing, whispering people and brushes of nature fall onto him from all corners. They press into the small intangible space he’s made for himself beneath a tree with naked branches that clack together in the wind. His legs ache and he realizes he fell asleep with one bent and the other stretched out lazily.

He digs the heel of his palm into his eye, a moodiness that oft followed awakening settling in his stomach as he reluctantly pulled himself back to the world of the living.

‘ _How embarrassing_...’

His back arches in a stretch before he decides to pull himself to his feet. The bark of the tree scrapes against his numb fingers. He doesn’t miss the confused stares from some of the people, for passing out against a tree. Amid winter, no less. But he can’t bring himself to care either. Kosei’s students did a fair job of eyeing him with suspicion for trivial matters. It was a drawback, he supposes, from being a former student to an esteemed teacher.

The remnants of his dream flit in and out of his head, flitting into his vision as he brings himself to the park road. His fingers massage his wrist. Joker’s grip had been harsh, like iron. Yusuke had felt trapped. It was not an emotion he often associated with Akira – with or without the Phantom Thief mask plastered to his face.

A chill runs its fingers across his shoulders. He wants to pin it on the cold of winter, but he knows it’s from the dream. Though he’s abandoned the Kosei dorms for a walk, he wants nothing more than to return to the comfort of his room.

He isn’t scared of Joker. But the more he thought of him, the tighter the knots in his stomach coiled.

Yusuke tries to remember Akira and his kind words. He knew what to say when Yusuke had struggled. They had been a comfort when his mind was dark. In the prison of his mind, Joker had been the exact opposite.

It is easy to swallow unease and discomfort when he is alone. It wasn’t the same when he was in the presence of the Phantom Thieves.

Nothing had ever been easy when the Metaverse was involved, but it had grown increasingly difficult the day his body dissolved into black dust. Try as he might, he cannot recall the details of what transpired. He _does_ remember the spark of freedom when the bars vanished and his Phantom Thief garb materialized. But stronger than that freedom, had been his helplessness. He felt caught in a web with his limbs pinioned to his sides by intangible spider silk. Then they had woken at the mouth of Mementos.

His body ached, his head pulsed with pain, and he wanted respite. There had been an endless sea of souls to scoop hearts from. They had wasted little time in plunging back into the cognitive world’s depths.

If Akira would be so merciful, he muses bitterly, perhaps he could grab an extra hour of sleep in the comfort of his futon.

Frost clings to the paved road, and he steers off the path once more when it appears impossible to brush by the plethora of people. Beauty lived in everything much like energy existed in matter. Though it is the spikes of irritation that prick his brain at this random gathering in the middle of the road, their lack of concern for others was something to behold. Admirable, in its own annoying manner.

Yusuke rubs at his eye once again, dimly aware of the fatigue that pulls at his face. He must look unapproachable despite his careful wardrobe. The thin patches of ice are not slick enough to slip on, but they remind him of the harsh, frigid spells he’s cast with Kamu Susano-o and the wave of nausea rises in his gut like a wave responding to the beckoning of the moon.

Even outside, away from canvases and the smell of paints, he cannot escape the Metaverse.

It truly has become a part of him – a part of _them_.

He does not see the intrusion in the ground until his toe hooks under its arch.

Yusuke’s body lurches forward, hands propelling forward to catch himself as the ground rushes up to meet him. The... _thing_ that brought him sprawling to the ground holds tight to his foot, and he clamps down on his tongue when he twists something, knees and palms scraping against ice and brick alike.

His chin is unbelievably sore, and he winces as he touches the split skin. He turns as best as he can, glaring at the offender.

The ire practically melts off his face.

Carefully, he untangles himself from the alabaster root. A red shadow, rich as blood, crawls from beneath its body.

“What...?”

His brain shuts down the urgency of discomfort dancing along his nerves. It is distant, replaced by utter shock and downright confusion. Gingerly, he reaches forward, running his fingers along the surface. It’s as hard as stone, but not quite the same texture as the pavement that bites through his clothes and digs into his skin.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Yusuke looks up. Attached to the voice is a young woman and glued to her side is a girl. Her daughter, he assumes. “Quite,” he says, but he shakes his head. “I apologize for that display. I failed to see this...” his mind blanks on the word. It’s unsettling to look at, “root.”

The woman blinks, confusion twisting her brow and crinkling her face. “Root?” her gaze trails to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

He stares at her, mouth open just so. “The root,” he repeats, nudging it with the sole of his foot for emphasis. A muffled _thump_ whispers in response. “You do see it...?”

Her unchanging expression causes his heart to skip a beat. “This path is quite worn,” she says slowly, and Yusuke notices how she holds her daughter closer with one arm. “It’s dangerous to walk on in the winter. Maybe they should...”

The words are lost on him as his gaze drags back to the root. It seems to stare back at him, tauntingly so.

When he was younger, he worked on a project of sorts with one other student. The ‘project’ was less of artwork and more of covering a damaged portrait for an exhibition. They had been out of necessary materials and had a clock ticking down the sheer _minutes_ before Madarame would return from who knew where. Yusuke had rarely, if ever, touched physical art projects back when he was on the cusp of middle school. But this one could be fixed with just the right amount of metal wiring.

He had unwound the spool of wire, clipping it with the cutters, and linking it from one appendage to the next all while the other student shared his panic with the others. The time and effort resulted in sore hands and fingers, but the model looked unbalanced. Reaching toward the ceiling was the top half of the miniature tree while the once-damaged torso unwound and split into a spraying of wire roots that plunged into some invisible earth. It was as if he were looking at a tree both above and under the dirt.

The model was chaotic, but it was far more complete than it had been minutes and minutes earlier.

He had decided not to tell anyone that he fixed it, too distracted with the arrival of his sensei walking through the front door. But when the time came, he proudly presented it, telling the student he fixed it.

It had been hard to not feel downtrodden by the utter disbelief and mocking scoff. They told him not to lie and insisted that one of the upperclassmen fixed it. Yusuke learned quickly that day it wasn’t worth arguing with anyone. Especially when they called him a liar the longer he insisted it was _true_ , threatening to silence him by bringing his dishonesty to Madarame’s attention.

His name wasn’t tacked onto the model at the exhibition (not that _any_ of them belonged to their proper creators), but it still stung to see credit go to someone else. It hurt even more to not be believed, to be looked at as if he were crazy for daring to _say_ he made that, he _fixed it_.

Nobody believed him then and nobody believed him now.

...How ironic.

Those pieces he added had been roots too.

 _You look like a freak, Yusuke_. something taunts within him, its voice not unlike the student. _Then again, you’re used to that, aren’t you? They look at you like this in school, in public, and now you can see it face to face._

She... can’t see it. Neither of them.

But it’s real. It’s _very_ real. He can feel it through his shoe as well as the warm wetness that oozes from its shadow.

 _“What are you afraid of, Yusuke?_ ” Joker’s voice echoes in the dustbowl of his mind. “ _Of me? Or of this little thing nobody can see but you? Are you_ sure _you’re okay? Would a true Phantom Thief be afraid of something so small?”_

His ankle cries in protest when he tries to bring his legs closer.

“Excuse me?” the woman says. “Are you okay?”

She touches his arm, jolting his limbs into action. He should know better than to behave so erratically in front of a forming crowd of people, but it is impossible to fight back against the blindness of irrationality and fear. Distantly, he hears the woman call for him as he hurries down the path, a limp to his step. His fingers fumble for his pocket, fishing for his phone.

There’s a red notification, but he pays it little mind, swiping at his screen into the group chat.

He doesn’t remember what he types then. But he does remember taking the train to Yongen-Jaya and the distant pain of the root clenching his foot that was not unlike the grip of the Joker in his dream.

* * *

 

Akira feels the pad of Morgana’s paw before he hears the mumbling of his phone. He opens his eyes blearily, wooden rafters of the café blurry in his vision. His mind is quick to shake off sleep’s stubborn grip. Returning to Leblanc had not been something he _physically_ did the previous night. Yet here he lay, feet twisted in the blankets kicked at the foot of his bed.

Yaldabaoth’s menacing sneer and Lavenza’s pitiful stare are burned into his mind’s eye.

“Hey! Earth to Akira!” Morgana’s claws snag in his shirt. “Geez, focus already...”

He blinks. “Morgana...?”

“Don’t you ‘Morgana’ me! You wanna tell me what happened last night?”

Akira shakes his head. “What did I do?”

“You just— I don’t know, we just came to Leblanc this morning and you were here!”

They must have extended him the courtesy of sleeping in his own bed instead of on the velvet carpeting. How generous. He ignores Morgana’s impatient staring, reaching for the glasses that sit innocently on the adjacent windowsill. The phone screen is alight with several notifications. A string of unread messages hide under a ‘read more’ option. His eyes narrow, a feeling of unease washing over him as he opens the conversation.

 **YUSUKE [11:38].** If it is not too much trouble, I would like to meet at Leblanc.

 **YUSUKE [11:39].** This is urgent.

 **RYUJI [11:43].** huh??

 **ANN [11:45].** What’s wrong? Are you okay?

 **YUSUKE [11:47].** I’m unsure how well I can answer that question. It would be easier to tell you all in-person. If Boss is not comfortable with holding our regular meetings at Leblanc, we can meet elsewhere if it is an inconvenience.

 **MAKOTO [11:49].** Yusuke, calm down. I’m sure he won’t mind. Has anyone heard from Akira?

His mouth runs dry, eyes shifting from the remaining messages to the time on his phone. 12:14. Had they decided to let him sleep in?

Morgana seems to read his mind. “I told them to let you sleep for a while. Come on,” he leaps off the bed, peers at him over his shoulder. “You got some catching up to do.”

The words ring ominously, but he pushes himself out of bed, changing out of his sleepwear. Morgana doesn’t wait and hurries down the stairs with rather loud paw-steps. His movements, Akira notices, have grown somewhat clumsier. He wonders if it’s connected to his slipup in Mementos or if he’s just as tired as they all were. Filing the thought for questioning later, he finishes getting ready and follows him.

Sojiro acknowledges him with a nod and a look in his eye that says he is not exempted from questions. He’d want to know too, of course.

(Akira as well.)

They’re crowded in the booths and at the counter. Between Haru and Yusuke is a first aid kit, and Akira is suddenly aware of the scrape on Yusuke’s chin and the bandage taped to the inside of his palm. She says something to him, and his gaze locks with Yusuke.

“Oh hey, you’re up.” Ann says from one of the booths.

“Yeah...” he mumbles, distracted. He breaks eye contact.

Morgana hops onto the counter, watching as Haru closes the kit softly. She utters a quiet ‘thank you’ to Sojiro. “He’s read the backlog already,” Morgana announces. “But we should probably go over what happened.”

“Take a seat,” Sojiro demands.

And so he does.

There’s the uncomfortable press of silence in the air of the room. It’s different from last night’s. That one had been far worse, as if everyone were afraid to speak up against their leader’s orders. This fills him with an odd trepidation, and he certainly wouldn’t turn down a nice cup of coffee to help soothe his nerves, but Sojiro seemed disconnected.

“While I was in Inokashira Park, I found something unusual. Rather, I tripped over it,” Yusuke begins, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. It is then Akira notices the dark patches on the fabric of his kneecaps and elbows. “I believed it to be an odd-colored root. When I fell, someone asked if I was alright, but...” his face clenches in puzzlement. “I was the only one who could see it. To them, it appeared as if I stumbled over thin air.”

He’s met with silence.

Akira cannot explain the chill that runs down his spine. At Yusuke’s hesitance, he presses. “That’s it?”

He means it as a question, not a challenge for more.

“And _that’s_ all you have to say?” Ryuji pipes up, disappointment stitched into his voice. “That shit ain’t normal. People don’t just... not see things, and if it’s got _Yusuke_ shaken up, then—”

Ann elbows him.

“Regardless, we should all see what it is,” Makoto interjects, looking to Akira for a final confirmation. “Right?” Something told him even if he protested, she would have just gone anyway.

“I think we should,” Haru chimes in.

Akira nods, looks to the others. He doesn’t need their confirmation; they are just as curious as he is (“Yeah, and if Haru comes with us, she may be able to tell if it’s some weird plant or not.”) (“Oh, I... I don’t think it’ll be like that, Ryuji...”). Roots weren’t selective in who could see them and who couldn’t. The more they dwell on the matter, the less and less he thinks it’s some type of plant and something far more sinister.

Distantly, he thinks he feels Saklas prodding at his consciousness, nudging aside the other Personas deep within the prison of his heart.

His nails scrape against the countertop before they bite into skin of his palm. There were still unanswered gaps in his memory as well. How _did_ he get to Leblanc? Did they transport him here after he practically kissed the carpet? Or had he walked here _himself_?

“Well? What do you want to do?” Morgana says. “It’s your call.”

Everyone else looks at him expectantly. There is little choice in the matter. “Let’s go.”

Ryuji is the first on his feet and they file out of Leblanc. Yusuke seems to stay ahead of Akira, hanging closer to Makoto and Ann. It only adds another layer of questions to his brain, and they hang impatiently on his tongue. He can’t pin down why Yusuke avoids his gaze, why he insists on marching ahead when yesterday he was ready to carry the load Akira was unable to hold.

He finds himself gritting his teeth in irritation.

“Mind if I speak to you?” a deeper voice cuts through to him.

Akira stops. He waits for Sojiro to stop looking at him with that frown on his face. It refuses to leave. So much for that. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m the one who should be asking you that,” Sojiro grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Do you know how many times I’ve kept the café open an hour later waiting on you? Some days you show up, others you’re off to God knows where.”

He stays by the front door, wrapped in the awkward beat of silence. Akira would be lying if he said he didn’t feel bad for indirectly causing Leblanc’s extra happy hour. Sometimes he would become wrapped up in the maze that was Mementos or even the Velvet Room. But he hardly caught a wink of sleep in that old prison cell. He hated sleeping there.

“I told you to take it easy, but the least you could do is leave a note or tell Futaba. And speaking of Futaba—”

“—I’m sorry. I promise I’ll explain everything—”

“—don’t interrupt me, Akira. You, Futaba, and the others go off to some place where I can’t reach you. If something were to happen _any_ of you...” he scoffs, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You can say you’ll be careful all you want, but no one can see into the future.”

His friends’ voices grow distant and he chances a look outside the door.

Sojiro sighs. “Doesn’t look like you’re willing to cooperate,” (Akira looks at him apologetically.) “Do what you need to. Just get home safe.”

 _I will_ , he tries to say. Yet the words lag on his tongue. He nods before sliding out the door. Leblanc’s bell calls out to him.

* * *

 

Yusuke quietly leads them to their destination.

The air is cold, and he knows the shudder he feels is from the white ‘root’ protruding from the brick and clogs of dirt. Igor’s twisted grin flashes into his mind’s eye and he swallows. He doesn’t want to think about him or Lavenza. Not now. Not ever, if he could.

Makoto is the first to respond, face wide with confusion. “What is this...?”

“I don’t know,” Yusuke responds truthfully. His gaze flits to the people who walk by, and Akira notices it then too: They’re giving them odd, quizzical looks. Yusuke folds his arms, brows knitting together. “They can’t see it like us.”

Haru crouches, reaching a tentative finger to its white surface.

“Wait, stop-!” Makoto exclaims.

Nothing happens, and she carefully traces the shape of the root. “I’m okay, Mako-chan,” Haru assures, but she doesn’t look at either of them. With her other hand, she touches the red patch oozing from underneath. “This is not a root, Yusuke-kun, and this liquid... I can’t feel it. It’s almost as if it’s a trick of the mind,” she continues quietly. Her nail picks at it for emphasis. “This ‘root’ is made of a tough material, though. But it’s not a plant.”

Morgana stalks forward, sniffing. With a tentative paw, he too touches it. “Whoa...” he gasps, withdrawing slowly. He looks up to Akira. “Hey, you should check this out too.”

Nodding, Akira settles down next to them. The white surface sits innocently beneath the cowering sun. Inokashira seems to hold its breath as he reaches forward, tiny pebbles biting into his knees and the skin of his palm.

It’s surprisingly cool to the touch and smooth. If he pressed harder, he could feel the rough edges and grooves. Something settles uncomfortably in his stomach, and he wants nothing more than to pull it out and hurl it on the sidewalk, let it be swept away in the winter winds.

“Figured it out?” Morgana asks, head tilted.

His mind pulls up words, but all he can think of is ‘root’. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“Well, what is it?” Ryuji’s voice cuts through the mounting tension.

“Haru’s right: This is no plant.” Morgana says. His gaze trails over all of them before he looks back to the faux root. “It’s bone.”

Akira pulls his hand back as if burned. Absently, he brushes his fingers against his jacket, as if to swipe away some invisible residue. The unsettled and uncomfortable look on everyone’s face does little to ease his nerves. Which was _fine_. He’s their leader; _he_ should have control of the situation and remain calm. However, it’s Morgana who looks the most collected.

Haru grips her arms as if cold, pushing herself to her feet.

Futaba shakes her head, backpedaling into Ann, who places her hands on her shoulders. “I-It’s just like when we...”

“Yes,” Makoto nods.

She needn’t say more; they all knew.

“Not again...” Futaba mumbles, voice hiked with panic. “I-Is it gonna happen again? Are we going to—”

Ann shakes her gently. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she says, but Akira knows her well. Her acting was quite admirable when she wasn’t forcefully trying. A part of her really _did_ want to comfort Futaba. But that other part was just as scared as they were. “It’s not like last time.”

“Man, what the hell is going on?” Ryuji curses, kicking at the ground. “I thought none of this was supposed to happen after we were freed. Did that shitty Grail lie to us? Is he going around planting bones in other places too?”

Yusuke levels him with a disapproving stare. “You’re being quite loud.”

Ryuji scoffs. “Can’t help being a _bit_ freaked out by this. ‘Sides, you were the one who found it, so why aren’t _you_ saying anything?”

Everyone is beginning to stare. He could hear their voices, blending with the murmur of the park river. Akira stands. “Let’s go some place else,” he suggests. “Somewhere they can’t see.”

“We should check Mementos anyway,” Morgana says. “I’m confident this is like the bones from the Metaverse, but we should check. Besides, if something is happening out here, then that means there’s something going on down there.” He lifts his chin at Akira. “Any requests? We can take care of the ones from yesterday?”

Akira scrolls through his phone, pulling up the Phan-site. There’s the same plethora of requests from yesterday, ranging from serious to absolute laziness such as requesting their teacher’s change of heart because of an overload of homework. He refreshes the page, but the screen fails to pull up information he hasn't already seen.

He frowns. _What?_

Refresh.

Nothing.

“Something wrong?” Ryuji walks over anyway, peering at his screen. He blinks, surprised. “You try refreshing the page or somethin’?”

Akira nods, but tries again anyway.

“Huh... Maybe there’s something up with the site. We should talk to Mishima later about it,” he looks to Futaba and Ann. “Or maybe Miss Hacker here can find out for us?”

“If hacking were as easy as logging into someone’s phone, I would have done it to you ages ago,” Futaba quips. “Who knows what fishy stuff you got stored in your photo album?”

“I ain’t got anything weird! Don’t say that!”

“Denial doesn’t look good on you, Ryuji.”

“Alright, alright, break it up,” Makoto sighs. She gives the bone a final look before turning to Akira. “If it’s too much of an issue, I could speak with Mishima-kun.”

He puts his phone away, annoyed. The Phan-site should allow anonymous users to submit requests. What could be blocking them from doing so? Had someone hacked into his website again? He didn’t trust himself to message Mishima; not when they had to dive back into Mementos. “I’ll take care of it.”

Makoto frowns, unconvinced, but, “Very well then.”

“Come on, we’ve wasted enough time here,” Morgana sits at his feet.

Akira catches Yusuke distracted by their discovery. “You alright?”

He gives a one-armed shrug. “My feelings won’t change the reality of this,” he pauses. “Thank you for your concern, however. I won’t let my emotions get in the way of our new mission.”

Yusuke goes back to avoiding his eyes, and Akira doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

“Akira?” Ann says once they’re at the platform. “We’re going to be okay, right?”

He’s grateful for the arrival of the train, because he’s not sure how to answer something he does not know.

* * *

 

Mona’s engine hums quietly as they ride over the bumpy tracks of Mementos, gravel and metal scraping lightly against the tires. Joker says nothing as they scout the floor for their first target. The occasional small talk that would bounce among them is mellowed and Fox finds it unsettling. Those times, too, were becoming distant memories, in the same manner as the chatter that broke out among him and the other students back in Madarame’s atelier.

He didn’t like it.

“There a reason you’re staring at Joker?”

Oracle’s elbow digs into his arm. Fox blinks, realizes that he is indeed staring holes into the back of his head. “I’m thinking,” he responds vapidly.

She snorts. “That sounds dangerous.” Skull and Panther sit with Noir in the middle seats, but he swears he sees Panther’s shoulders tense as if she heard them. Maybe he could talk to her later about the dream he had—

No. There was no reason to bother any of his friends with such a childish topic. It was a nightmare; nothing more to think of it.

“Yeah...”

It is not the right thing to say. Oracle looks at him as if he’s sprouted two heads. “Uh, earth to Inari?” she nudges him again. He returns her stare with mild irritation, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t normally try to pick apart that brain of yours. For all we know, you’ve got some weird shrine of Panther—" (“Huh?” Panther looks back. When Oracle doesn’t respond, she returns to her ‘conversation’.) “—hiding in your subconscious.” Her eyes light up in amusement. “Ohhh, I get it. Maybe that’s why you’re watching Joker so closely.”

She’s musing, he realizes, but she’s distracted. Oracle— no, _Futaba_ was the last person who would strike up conversation about someone’s troubles. It wasn’t that she was a terrible friend, and Fox did appreciate her, but he can tell when she’s reaching. There’s a wall between them – between _all_ of them – and even Oracle is struggling.

He swallows. “You have as well.”

“Huh?” she blinks. Got her.

“You,” he clears his throat when his voice catches on the word. “You’ve been watching him as well. Do not feel you need to lie to me, Futaba,” he abandons her codename on accident, but in this case, he hopes she gets the idea. “I’ve noticed it too.”

He almost regrets it when she just stares at him with wide eyes. Fox sees it: her confusion, her fear, and something else he can’t pinpoint ( _relief_?). A third jab to the arm would have been appreciated, maybe a quip at his expense, but she does none of that. “T-That’s because he...” she scoots closer to him until their arms touch. Oracle shakes her head, once. Twice. “I-It’s nothing, forget I said anything.”

Except Fox _wasn’t_ going to ‘forget’. “What do you mean?”

Oracle looks up at him, lips parting—

The bus lurches forward and she yelps. Fox steadies her.

“ _Ow_ -!!” and the engine cuts, Mona’s voice slanting through the speakers. “Damn, no good... Hey, stop, we need to stop—” he inhales sharply.

“Mona?” Joker’s foot falls on the brakes.

“The hell?”

“Mona-chan—?”

Smoke coughs into his face, surging up his nose and in his mouth as the windows and seat practically _explode_ into dust. He bites on his tongue a second time that day when his rear smacks against the Mementos’ grounds. Everyone lands in their own awkward heap, but it is Joker who reaches Mona before anyone else can.

Concern swirls in his veins as he walks closer.

Skull winces. “Hey, is he okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mona calls back, but he could not look farther from it. His head is bowed, his shoulders sagging, and Fox notices how each breath is labored and heavy. He nudges aside Joker’s hand, rushing forward a few steps. “Come on, we got targets today,” and with a heavy grunt of effort, he launches himself into the air.

But he does not somersault two or three times, and there is no magic dust that poofs up when his catlike body expands into a massive vehicle. Instead he falls ungracefully, body limp as a ragdoll when he lands, a frightened chorus of his name ringing from everyone’s lips.

Fox’s breath sits in his throat like a stone, and he moves aside for Panther, whose mask burns at the corner with blue flames. “Hecate!” she calls. “Diar—”

“Don’t,” Mona coughs. “I’m not injured—”

“Like hell you ain’t!” Skull’s voice explodes. “Just heal him, Panther!”

“Would you listen to me for _five seconds_?!” Mona snarls, and Skull flinches in shock. “S-Sorry... That was uncalled for.” his ears flatten. “But I can still fight. Maybe. We’re just gonna have to go on foot for a while.”

Hecate disappears into the air, Panther’s mask back in place. Even behind the red concealing her face, Fox can see the worry woven into her expression. Noir looks to Queen helplessly before shaking her head at Mona. “We... It’s up to Joker what we should do next, but we can walk in Mementos if you want to go back home, Mona-chan.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be pushing yourself,” Panther agrees.

Oracle gasps and Fox notices the holographic screens spiraling around her. “H-Hey, something’s coming!”

“From where?” Joker asks sharply, body tense and alert.

Fox hears the cracking of the Mementos ceiling and floor before Oracle can respond. Panic springs him into action and he lunges for Joker, who notices a beat too late that the ground is beginning to fold in on itself.

“Look out!” he cries.

Their path breaks, sucking in rocks and steel, and then the bones that are eerily like the one in Inokashira Park.

The last thing he hears is everyone’s scream over the groaning of the sinkhole that greedily swallows them up. The last thing Fox sees is the shock and (dare he say it?) fear etched into Joker’s face as he falls with him.


	3. the unknown; it feasts

It is not the morning or afternoon light that stabs his eyes upon his second awakening that day.

He drifts in the void of unconsciousness, unable to think or feel. There’s an unbelievable ache dancing along his body. The harder he thinks on it (how it got there, what caused it, where on  _ earth  _ was he?) the more it hurts. In the abyss, he finds an odd sort of comfort.

No end or beginning, no worries or doubts...

Peace and calm.

Well, as calm as it could be floating in some other plane of reality... If that is what it was.

Distantly, he hears something. Opening his eyes ( _ when had he closed them? _ ) widens all other senses. The agony in his back surges into his brain and the red light of Mementos spills onto his face. He recognizes the voice that pulled him from his unintended nap. There’s no mistaking it. He’s heard it laced with amusement, tinged with sorrow, fueled by anger, and strangled by fear. This time, it is an odd concoction of horror and relief that spills into their words.

He is not sure how to feel about it.

“Joker!” Fox releases his shoulder, head dipping with a trembling exhale. “Thank goodness...”

The gritty floor of Mementos crunches under him as he leans back on his elbows, regretting it instantly when his side pinches. A hiss pushes through gritted teeth and he falls back awkwardly on one elbow, pressing his free hand against the injury. He couldn’t see it, but it hurt like hell, and he wonders if there would be leftover ‘residue’ of the wound once he returned to the real world.

‘ _ Nap time’s over _ ,’ he thinks bitterly. Pulled away from the realm of unconsciousness too soon, he wishes he could return. In there, he didn’t have to worry about the others. He cannot suppress the emotions so easily here.

Rubble and chunks of the upper floor lie in an unceremonious pile not too far from their left. The gaping hole above them stares back ominously. Gray dust had been coughed onto him from the fall and he brushes at it with an irritated swipe of his swipe of his hand. It stains his glove, but he’s too annoyed to truly care. He stops messing with his coat when the quiet of their surroundings seeps into him.

“Where are the others?”

Fox’s gaze lingers on him (at least he was  _ looking _ this time) before turning his attention to the pile of debris. “I tried calling out to them, but it seems we’re alone.”

Joker blinks. “How?”

The word is harsher than he intends, but it’s too late to reel it back. Fox’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Do you expect me to know the answer?”

“I—” he huffs, goes to run a hand down his face only to be reminded of his mask. They didn’t have time to be arguing. “We came from the top floor. Where else could the others have gone if they’re not here?”  _ Unless we fell two floors instead of one _ , but that alone sounded fake to his mind.

He is neither Mona nor Oracle. His sixth sense couldn’t tell him how deep they were into this seemingly bottomless hell. What he has is an army of Personas at his disposal and one team member. On an upper floor, this would have been plenty. But divided from the rest of the Phantom Thieves would only reap trouble.

The path to their right is clear with the train tracks in place. If they followed that path, they could find a Safe Room. Oracle would be able to hear them without the presence of Shadows clogging her readings... or so he hopes.

Fox rises to his feet, offering a hand to Joker. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” he takes it, gritting his teeth at the tenderness of his body as he’s pulled off the floor. Fox’s uniform is not torn in any places, but cognition did a tremendous job of concealing injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Aside from a few minor aches, I’m alright,” he assures, and Joker recognizes the guilt that flickers in his eyes. “I believe you broke most of my fall. Apologies, I hadn’t expected the floor to crumble.”

_ None of us did _ .

His feet feel heavy as they carry him further into the gaping maws of Mementos. Fox follows obediently and Joker catches his gaze lingering on the walls. They were dark and red, bone clinging to their surface. He’s reminded of that hideous root buried in cement as if it were soil. He humors the idea of visiting it later, when there were no curious stares to judge him or mothers to cover their young children’s eyes. Pluck it up out of its bed like a wildflower.

(‘ _ Don’t mind me,’  _ he’d tell the woman and the child that stood as high as her knees. _ ‘It’s the perfect season for picking invisible bones for my girlfriend. _ ’)

Except he wouldn’t do that nor would he spew such nonsense. And Kurusu Akira did not have a girlfriend as far as he was concerned. Besides, she would much appreciate a bouquet of roses instead of hardened marrow with yellow and dark prints staining its porcelain surface. They would also hurt a lot less if she decided to throw them at his face while her own expression twisted and wrinkled in disgust.

Fox’s foot scuffles the gravel beneath them. It chokes beneath his weight.

Maybe Yusuke would appreciate a clutch of bones instead.

It doesn’t strike him that the rhythm of Fox’s steps are off until the call of his own name surges into his ears.

The thing rises from a misshapen puddle of black oil, its body having hidden among the spaces of the floor. He can only glimpse the hulking body of the Shadow and the way its faceless, blue mask seems to glint tauntingly before everything rushes past his vision.

He hears the smack before he feels it as he’s flung carelessly into the adjacent wall. Something hard and knobby makes sure to jab at the base of his spine ( _ those damn bones _ ) before his head meets the ground. Dirt clogs his gums and fills his mouth as he gasps sharply, breath stolen and aware of bruises undoubtedly blooming beneath his clothes.

When it stands over him, he’s given a treat to what it truly looks like.

Aside from its oozing body, the Shadow is not like the others that prowled the Mementos tunnels. There are white masks with lips frozen in smiles of terror implanted in its belly, its arms, its shoulders. At least two or three more appendages stand erect from its back with claws protruding from its spider-like fingers. On one of the front hands, its talons are as alabaster as marble. On the other, they’re streaked with a hideous smear of red.

He feels the burning flame of pain pulsing in time with his stammering heart. His glove comes away bloody from where it presses against his stomach, as if his subconscious was afraid his guts would spill underneath if he didn’t hold himself together.

The Shadow grins. He doesn’t know how, but it does.

A chill races down his abused spine and his teeth chatter once or twice when the glacial tree springs in the space between it and him. Its branches scrape the Shadow’s arm when it advances too close, and it makes a noise between a wince and a cry. The Bufudyne spell dissolves in a shower of particles.

Black substance spits and cooks against the rocks. It lurches away from Joker, cradles its wrist.

Kamususano-o evaporates as Fox lunges forward, katana sliding through its forearm. Surprise lights up behind his kitsune mask as the appendage gives way into a pile of slime.

It roars, fury over pain, and the remainder of its arm steels and hardens over the katana’s blade. The wet splats bounce back at them from the walls as its body snakes up the length of the sword, swallowing the hilt and touching his gloved fingers before either one can blink.

Fox screams in horror and anguish as its black body folds itself over his hand, clasping and yanking his arm as if to take it in place of the old one.

Joker’s stomach yells at him as he springs to his feet. Blue flames sputter at his fingers and he feels the mask’s familiar weight depart from his face.

Thin, wiry nails cut through its arm, and Joker has a split second after it’s happened to remind himself that Fox’s own limb is trapped somewhere in that goop. But Rangda is careful, and she slices through its flesh as if it were soft butter.

The Shadow loses its hold, and Joker hurries to Fox’s side when he falls on his rear. The black substance melts off Fox’s arm. Joker’s breath catches in his throat before the monster’s extended third arm thrashes wildly in an arc. His exclaim syncs with Rangda when it crashes against the back of her head.

“Joker!”

He ignores Fox’s concern as he rolls onto one arm. His mask alights and Rangda disappears in a cough of flames. Black substance dribbles onto the ground from where Fox made the laceration. The expressionless face radiates with quiet fury as it advances faster, arms pulled back as if to crush them.

Joker stands, and he hears Fox struggling to his feet as well. “Sandalphon--!”

White splashes in his vision and the impact of the Shadow’s arm rattles his skull. The back of his head is the first to rush into Fox’s chin, and a loud noise of discomfort is choked out of them both.

It sends them sprawling a good feet away, dirt piled up behind them from where they scraped against the gritty floor.

His teeth clamp down on his tongue as they land, the overwhelming taste of copper singing his taste buds and burning his throat. 

The Shadow rushes forward and the room tilts as Fox shoves Joker off of him. He is only given a glimpse of Fox’s seared forearm when Kamu Susano-o bursts into existence. Ice spits up from the floor in a series of jagged shards, catching the monster’s goopy legs.

A shudder races down Joker’s spine as it falls on its “hands”, frustrated screech blaring from its mask and ricocheting off the walls. And Joker sees why.

Susano-o’s ice halted its movements, but in doing so, the Shadow’s upper-body had completely detached. Black ooze slowly melts the pristine surface of its icy shackles.

“Move,  _ now _ !!” Fox’s fingers dig into his shoulder harshly, ripping him from the ground.

Joker doesn’t protest, not even when his arm feels it’s going to pop out of its socket. He wobbles before tearing behind Fox and past the trapped Shadow. 

Mementos blurs by them in rushes of red and eventually purples and darker hues. They turn one corner, then another, and he loses track of how much distance they put between themselves and the monster, but as long as it wasn’t rending flesh from their bones, he didn’t care.

The railroad tracks break off to the right at a three-way intersection. Fox’s hesitance shows in his steps, but Joker charges on before he realizes what he’s doing.

“This way!” he calls back.

He recognizes the red and black portal, colors swirling and overlapping with one another. Their target could be waiting on the other side, or there could be nothing. But with fear and the desire to see them both safe nipping at his heels, he doesn’t have time.

They rush forward, tracks and gravel scraping against the bottom of their shoes…

.

.

and Skull is the first to speak when Oracle’s voice cracks the air.

“Oracle?” he calls to the gaping black maw of the ceiling. 

“Oh thank  _ God _ !” she gasps, voice teetering on a sob. “Y-You guys, it’s- it’s really you! I thu-thought--”

“Never mind us,” Queen’s words tremble as she pushes her weight against the wall.

Noir bites her lower lip, and Skull sees her eye the bare skin of Queen’s charred knuckle. The glove and iron tekko had been burned off her hand. He tries not to think of how that beast swallowed his own weapon: spiked baseball bat just consumed by black goop when he rushed in to assist Queen, and then it was gone before he could blink. It had taken one powerful swing of Noir’s axe to free them both

( _ the forearm shriveled and spazzed on the floor, dancing to some tune of agony before it finally dissolved into a puddle _ )

and he squeezes his eyes shut against the memory.

“But, you’re hurt, Queen--”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” she clenches her fist in her other hand. “Oracle, are you alright?”

A pause.

“Y-Yeah, more or less… The floor broke, and everything went black, but I think Prometheus saved me. I lost track of everyone else though a-and the readings on the map… I can hear you, and I think it’s because of your Personas that I was able to track you down. But everything’s so dark,” she exhales heavily. “I-I don’t know where to go.”

Skull grits his teeth. “Dammit… Just hang on, Oracle.”

“But…” Noir starts slowly. Her eyes are trained to the ground. “Where is ‘there’?”

Queen sighs, presses a hand to her temples. “I don’t know myself. On top of that, we still don’t know where Joker and the others are.”

“Urgh, I was hoping my readings were wrong…”

Worry shimmies its way up his spine. He can practically  _ feel  _ the dread rolling off of them and dripping from Oracle’s words. His mind flips through words that would reassure them (or so he hopes), tell them everything’d work out. He does not doubt Panther and her strong will with fire burning in Hecate’s palms. Fox and his calm yet fierce demeanor, Kamu Susano-o shredding through enemies with ice. Mona and…

...his crumpled body on the tracks when his transformation broke.

Shit.

_ Shit, shit, shit _ .

If he was alone--

“Yeah…” Skull scuffles the toe of his boot against the wooden planks of the railroad. “We gotta find them fast.”

“I  _ know _ , Skull,” Queen says sharply, but the edges are dulled, as if someone ran over her words with sandpaper.

He bristles anyway and meets her steely gaze. “I’m just worried. Panther and Fox can hold down the fort, but Mona’s been so weak lately. And Joker…”

_ ‘Joker’s been detached’,  _ he thinks. Acting bizarre and distant.

There was much confidence to place in leaders and strategists when it came down to teams. Since day one, he never doubted Joker - in and outside the Metaverse. He was special, Skull realizes, because he was Joker. A true leader and fighter, an excellent friend who heard others out in times of need.

When Ryuji was on the track team, people looked to him for guidance or admired him from afar (or so he liked to believe). If they couldn’t turn to coach, they’d turn to him. 

But the admiration and trust he felt in their earlier heists is frustratingly absent, and he doesn’t know  _ why _ , but just knows it has to do with that damn God--

...what God? (He frowns.)

Where did  _ that  _ come from?

“Maybe if we continue, we’ll find them,” Noir offers quietly. “We shouldn’t stay where those Shadows can find us.”

Queen nods. “I agree… I know we’re tired, but the longer we stay here, the more dangerous it’s going to get.” she flits her gaze to the ceiling, but they all knew Oracle was out of sight. “Can you scan the safest route for us, Oracle?”

“I… no. I said I couldn’t see anything!”

Her head drops with an exhausted sigh. “Right, sorry…”

“N-No, I... shouldn’t have yelled,” Oracle’s apologetic voice was a rarity, but this scenario made it much worse. “I-I’m just…” there’s an uncomfortable break from her words to the next. “Keep talking, please. I can’t see any of you, and I don’t know where Prometheus is going and I don’t think it knows either. I don’t want to lose you.”

Unspoken: Don’t leave me alone. Help me.

“We’ll get you out, Futaba,” Skull assures weakly. He abandons her codename without meaning. “We ain’t gonna leave you there.”

“Of course not,” Queen shakes her head in agreement.

“...Thanks.”

Skull follows Queen and Noir, occasionally peeking over his shoulder and listening closely for any unsuspecting Shadows. They wouldn’t get the jump on them this time if someone was watching.

He’d be sure of it.

“Damn, what an ‘effin mess…” he mumbles.

“Yes,” Noir says solemnly. “Mementos has been acting strange lately. I wonder if it has something to do with that bone we saw in Inokashira.”

His brows crinkle together in puzzlement. “But how can one tiny thing have this much of an effect in the Metaverse?”

“Maybe it’s connected to cognition,” she offers, pulling her gaze from the violet colored walls. Queen stops to listen as does Skull. “We’ve never seen a part of the Metaverse in our world before. Whenever we stole the treasure, it just turned into something normal. Like my father’s model kit.”

Queen folds her arms and brings a hand to her chin thoughtfully. “And technically, that bone we saw wasn’t brought from this world to ours by our own doing. It  _ willingly _ did so on its own. It chose to manifest in our world, but didn’t want to be seen by everyone else.”

“Almost as if it wanted to scare us...” Noir trails off.

A dread fills his body. He scratches the back of his neck, curses his blasted coat collar for getting in his way. “Well, it friggin’ worked, didn’t it? Scared the shit outta me and it freaked out Fox too…”

“Guys, heads up!” Oracle exclaims suddenly into whatever link is allowing them to communicate. “I’m sensing something up ahead! It--”

Screams and shouts rattle the air, a sudden pressure to the atmosphere washing over them like a wave. It comes from down the hall and into an unseeing path.

But he knows that voice. He’s known it since the days in middle school and he’s so familiar with her voice that there’s no mistaking who it is.

“ _ Ann _ !” it rips out of him as he tears off down the hall. Behind him, he can hear Queen and Noir echoing her name as well as his. And then there was Oracle, who could only…

.

.

sit and watch as Mona was vaulted into the wall. Weak, blue embers sizzle and snuff out of existence with Mercurius’ watery silhouette.

Panther screams his name, rushes forward only to be met with a faceful of black gunk. It surges up her nose and crams itself into the hallows of her mas. Her eyes screw shut. The world somersaults but she doesn’t  _ see  _ it. She  _ feels  _ it.

Something cracks when she meets the wall, and she’s not sure which bones have broken: the ones embedded in the wall, or something inside of her. Her body crumples to the ground and she supports herself on one arm, breath in and out as if to steal back whatever air had been flung out of her.

The dark substance is thick and falls away like clumpy mud. It burns her skin and she shrieks in frustration and pain as she claws at her face, hearing that blasted mask clatter to the ground.

It hurts to stand and she stumbles, but she pushes.

Perhaps fate has grown bored with her suffering for the gunk that shot up her nose does not sting, spilling out like water and it’s  _ disgusting _ . It is a millisecond respite, but she welcomes it as she blows heavily through her nose to expel whatever stubbornly remains behind.

Tears prick her eyes and her vision is blurry when she looks up. The Shadow casts its namesake over her, already bored with tossing around Mona like a ragdoll.

There’s another burning feeling, but it’s not coming from her injuries. It scrapes up her throat, lights her veins on fire, and she likens it an onset of a fierce tantrum, something she hasn’t thrown in  _ years _ . But it’s there, it’s so real it could very well be  _ tangible _ , and she snarls, face twisting into a glare that hurts the corners of her mouth and pinches her brows and eyes.

The Shadow reaches for her with dripping hands, emotionless green mask observing her quietly.

“ _ Don’t touch me! _ ” the demand explodes out of her like gun shot, stinging her throat as it fires into the open.

A column of orange and white flames spout like a geyser at the monster’s feet. They lick and bite into its tar-like flesh, and it stumbles back, body ablaze as it too screams its agony. Hecate does not cease her assault. Not even when Panther half-runs, half-limps to Mona’s half-conscious body.

She cradles him, and there’s a sudden weight on her face as the mask regenerates. “Mona!” Panther yells against the anguished voice of the Shadow. She still feels the heat of Hecate’s flames against her back. “H-Hang in there, okay? I’m gonna get us out of here!”

His eyes slide open. Bleary, detached, and though he looks at her, he stares at nothing. “Lady Ann…” his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t protect you.”

“This isn’t the time for that!” Panther snaps, but the tears slide down her cheeks unbidden. “I’ll get us--”

“... _ Ann _ !”

She looks up just in time to see Seiten Taisei drive into the Shadow’s side. The very Shadow that was no longer on fire and somehow slinked to her side without her knowing. Sparks of electricity dance along its body, its voice quaked by shocked tremors before it collapses into a puddle.

“Get back, Panther!” Queen shouts.

“It’s still alive!” somewhere she can’t determine, Oracle’s voice blares out at her. “I-I can’t see it very well, but I know it’s not dead!”

Panther pushes herself to her feet, unflinching when Skull grasps her upper arm to help.

“Shit, Mona…” he curses. “Are you-?”

She looks down at Mona’s unconscious face. “His Persona wouldn’t come,” Panther shakes her head at Skull’s little, “what?!”. “Not now. I’ll explain later. We have to get rid of that  _ thing _ .”

Mosaics of bright purples and abstract shapes burst into existence as Astarte raises her hand towards the Shadow.

The Shadow’s body remains glued to the floor, grunting under Psy and Nuclear energy. If not for the damage it had inflicted on her and Mona, Panther would have felt bad for it. A now-physically disabled creature unable to fend itself off from its enemies.

She offers Mona to Skull, her whip manifesting in her grasp with a flick of her wrist.

That empathy she found within herself flees her heart. She harbors nothing but emptiness for creatures that hurt and destroy her friends.

It curls and stretches, reaching back to the day one Shiho Suzui tried to rid herself of this sorry-excuse of a world, to the fear and heat of Carmen’s flames that lit up Shadow Kamoshida’s face, and to the void of waking up in a room with velvet walls and steel bars.

Helplessness.

She’s stunned by how much it consumed her when it had just been her and Mona against this beast. But she’s also stunned by the thrill it sends down her spine. They were all cornered, backs pressed to the wall, and she knows what to do.

It is the clearest and cloudiest her mind’s been since breathing in the stiffness of Mementos.

Panther pulls back, foot stepping forward into a spin as the whip slices the air. The  _ crack  _ splits into her ears as it licks the Shadow’s blue mask.

There is no sound as its face breaks in half, pieces slipping in the dark muck. It doesn’t scream or cry. Nothing.

“...The hell?!” Skull shouts. “ _ That’s  _ all it took?”

“No.” Oracle cuts in quickly. “It’s still there. It’s faint, but it’s there. I don’t think you’re going to do any more damage to it.”

“Wouldn’t now be the best time to finish it off?”

“You’ll just be wasting energy. Just… Ugh, just keep moving! It’s biding its energy. Keep hitting it and there’s no telling what it’ll do.”

She starts at Queen’s voice followed by the hand on her shoulder. “Panther,” she gasps. “Your face--” and then Panther’s eyes land on Queen’s burned knuckles.

“It got you too, huh?” she mutters, gaze lingering on the monster’s ‘corpse’. It is impossible to see her reflection despite its oily mass. But if it looked anything like Queen’s flesh - angry, splotchy as if it was interrupted mid-melt - she’s glad she can’t.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore.

Queen parts her lips to speak, but she’s interrupted by Noir’s sharp gasp and Skull’s exclaim (“Mona!”). She freezes, head whipping in the direction of his voice.

Panther’s eyes widen. The emptiness that curled inside her fills sharply with overwhelming relief as Mona blinks blearily at the ceiling. She rushes over, crumbling to her knees next to Skull and Noir. His name chokes her throat and dries her mouth, but she feels Hecate at the back of her mind, pushing the name of the healing spell against the mounting wave of panic.

Pale light erupts from her hand as she presses it to Mona’s forehead. He sighs in relief. “Thank you, Panther.”

“Don’t mention it. Are you alright?”

He pauses and lets the silence sweep through the room. “My Persona… It was there, but it wasn’t,” he responds listlessly, staring at something only he could see.

Panther shakes her head, pressing her fist against the gravel. “It was there, Mona,”  _ almost invisible,  _ she nearly adds, but something stops her. “You’ve been weak since yesterday, so maybe you’re just tired.”

“No,” he says firmly, pushing gently against Skull’s grip, who steadies him on the ground. “Weak or not, that shouldn’t have happened. Low stamina hasn’t prevented us from summoning our Personas or using them to defend ourselves.”

“Then what’s wrong with ya?” Skull interjects, frowning from behind his mask. “Is there any way we can help?”

“There’s not much we can do if we don’t even know what it is,” Queen says from above them. “The logical thing to do is see what  _ caused  _ it, but…”

“...we have no leads.” Noir adds quietly.

Mona’s ears droop, head dipping in a nod of utter shame. “This is embarrassing.”

“No it ain’t,” Skull protests. “We all got our off-days. All we gotta do is find Joker and Fox, then we can get the hell outta dodge--”

He starts, turning on them with shocked eyes. “Wait- Joker and Fox are…” his head whips to the left and right, as if expecting them to  _ poof  _ out of thin air. “And where’s  _ Oracle _ ?”

From the void, Oracle makes a noise in the back of her throat. “I’m here, you just can’t see me.”

Mona blinks. “ _ What _ ?”

“Yeah, where exactly are you, Oracle?” Panther chimes in. “Is it safe?”

“That’s… one way to look at it,” she mumbles. “I’ll tell you as much as I know. But we should get out of here first. Away from that thing.”

Panther looks over her shoulder at the misshapen puddle. It’s just as unsettling immobile.

“This isn’t good,” Mona sighs, but he begins walking to the closest tunnel. “Come on. We gotta regroup and find the other two. Can you see them anywhere, Oracle?”

“No… I can’t even see you guys, but I can hear you, and I can sense if something’s close.”

“We’ll have to keep going then, and we’ll get you out too,” Mona assures. “Whatever’s happening, it’s affecting Mementos badly.”  _ This has never happened before _ , goes unsaid. It’s okay though; they all knew.

They had to regroup.

Panther can only hope Joker and Fox are safe.

\--

The monster did not tumble from the portal as expected, and Fox could not be more grateful.

He’s sitting with his back against the wall, Joker standing at the end of the subway tracks. The red veins tangled in the walls and threaded among the bones of the ceiling spiral deeper into the abysmal tunnel. They pulse with a flash of white light, as if connected to something much larger at the core of Mementos’ body.

(and it did. The Holy Grail.)

Discomfort rises in him as he watches them pulse again and again. What once invoked a curious fascination with the mysterious depths of Mementos now bestowed him with trepidation and anxiety. His own heartbeat races against the veins, beating at a faster tempo despite sitting down and relaxing for a good few minutes.

“When you’re ready, we need to find our target.” Joker finally says.

Fox looks to him, frowning. He must have misheard. “Excuse me?”

“When you’re ready,” Joker repeats, and Fox doesn’t understand why he sounds almost  _ impatient _ . “we need to find our target.”

“Are you serious?” Fox is powerless to stop himself, but he doesn’t regret it. Not even when Joker finally turns to him. “Despite everything, you still want to find them?”

“Yes,” Joker responds shortly, turning his back on him once more. “We’re here for a reason.”

The burning returns and he clutches his bare upper arm as if to stem it. Their previous squabble with the Shadow had torn away at the sleeve of his outfit and the skin beneath it. It was hideous, marred skin stretched atop bone and stinging like utter hell. When it had grabbed him, his mind had shut down, hiccuped into utter hysteria that told him to get away.

...His katana was gone too.

“That may have been our initial plan,” he says slowly, biting back the irritation that crawls through him. “But we had not anticipated being separated. Shouldn’t our first course of action be regrouping with the others?”

Joker hums in response. Neither a yes or a no.

Fox clenches his fist and rises to his feet. “Perhaps I should remind you of something. We were separated from our group. We just faced a Shadow we’ve never seen before. Despite this, you still insist on plunging deeper into this abomination to search for more danger while our friends fend for themselves.” Joker’s silence gnaws at his impatience. “Do you hear how irrational you sound?”

“We’re fine.”

“We are  _ not  _ fine,” Fox cuts off sharply. “We can’t even touch these monsters with our weapons, and you failed to summon your Persona.”

Annoyance flickers across Joker’s face. “It wouldn’t answer me…” he says, but it is as if he is speaking to himself than to Fox.

“No matter what it was, I stand by my decision. I will not have you risking either of our lives for a change of heart we can complete on any other day.”

“Clock’s ticking, Fox,” Joker snaps, hands buried in the pockets of his coat.

“Then let it.”

“If I have to go myself, I will.”

Fox scowls, and he has half a mind not to grab Joker and just  _ shake  _ him, hoping the stubbornness would fall away. “You’re an utter fool.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Joker says nonchalantly, brushing by him to stand closer to the tunnel before them. “But staying behind isn’t a good idea.”

His hand snags Joker’s forearm before he has time to process what he’s just done. “Neither is going forward without any sort of direction.” the warning in his eyes only pushes Fox on. “Would the situation be different, I would gladly follow you to whatever end. But we can’t be reckless when we have no knowledge of our teammates’ whereabouts.”

“Alright,” and he jerks his hand from Fox’s grip. “Then where do we go? Do we backtrack until we run into that monster again? And you saw it too; there’s no way we can go back to a higher floor. What if they’re this way?”

“If you want to live with the potential death of our friends’ on your conscious, then…” Fox begins, but something stops him. He wants to finish his warning, wants to shove it in Joker’s face the dangers of this ‘mission’. But the words catch. He can’t. “That is not something either one of us could bear. I would not be able to live with myself if we were too late.”

A beat of silence thrums between them, and despite Joker’s chilly gaze, Fox does not yield. Leader or not, this was not a decision he would so blindly follow.

Then, Joker is moving. Not down his initial path, but retreating back to the red and black swirls of the portal. Relief sparks in Fox as he follows quietly. Confusion is there too, sitting at the back of his mind and trying to piece together Joker’s behavior and possible whereabouts of the remaining Thieves. The floor  _ broke _ , so why hadn’t they woken up in the same room? Where else could they have gone?

He hopes to whatever invisible being that may be listening, that no one wound up  _ alone _ . There was the presence of their Persona to guide them and ease their stress. But it was different than having a friend.

And with those beasts prowling the tunnels…

“Are you coming?”

Fox looks up. There’s a good distance between him and Joker. And the portal. Their only gate back into this terrible nightmare. He doesn’t want to go back, but he doesn’t want to go deeper either. What he does want is to find everyone else and abort the mission.

He nods firmly.

“Then let’s--”

The inhumane shriek tears through them, slices up Joker’s mid-sentence. He spins around in alarm and Fox’s gaze whips to the portal.

It stretches, black overriding red, and a shudder races down Fox’s spine when he realizes it’s an  _ arm _ \- three pairs of arms stretching and tugging at the portal as if it were a rubber band. Its covered in what appears to be armor, plates mismatched and pasted curdely atop its bubbling body. There’s a lilac mask at its “face” with five spikes protruding from its crown. Engraved on its forehead is the roman numeral IV.

Then it stops.

It stares.

Joker doesn’t move but his fingers tighten around the dagger.

His blood pounds loudly against his brain and he takes a step back to steady himself--

\--and it bullets forward, launching itself out of the portal with a monstrous cry.

Kamu Susano-o parries its blade with his own. Metal clashes against metal, sends a shockwave that tremors in his Persona’s arms that Fox feels in his own. Sparkles of ice dance along the sword and his mind races to call the right spell--

The Shadow swings in an upward arc. It breaks their parry, grinds against the spiraled metal of Susano-o’s weapon.

Fox can only scream and his hand flies to his chest, right where the Shadow’s weapon glided in a diagonal cut across Susano-o’s body. Maybe it cries out too, or maybe it doesn’t, but suddenly the ceiling and the floor are reversed as he’s hoisted off his feet and swung through the air.

Black and white burst in his vision, and he teeters dangerously on the edge of unconsciousness when his head smacks the ground when he falls from an unknown amount of feet up.

He tastes copper and every breath is like swallowing needles.

The world tilts once more as the Shadow tosses him around with childish fascination. Agony pulses through his body with each impact. It spikes him against the ground and the rocks and gravel tear into his back.

For a while, he can’t bring himself to move. Fox’s fingers scrape at the ground beneath them and he lifts his head, Kamu Susano-o’s name on his lips.

Its hand swims into his line of sight.

Clawed fingers grip his head and he screeches when it squeezes  _ harder,  _ his own gloved fingers scratching uselessly against its hand as he’s suspended a few feet off the ground. There’s a  _ cracking  _ noise and chips of white crumble down his chin, into the front of his suit, and clink to the ground. 

And that’s when Fox sees himself.

No. Not Fox,

He sees  _ Yusuke _ . The lower half of his mask is shattered, one eye completely bare to the world from where the pieces gave way. But he doesn’t recognize the person that stares back in the purple surface of the Shadow’s face. He’s staring at a reflection of himself. Of course it’s him. But it’s also not.

His lips are drawn back in a scowl of terror, pupils blown wide, and he looks like such a  _ child _ it’s humiliating. It’s uncharacteristic. It’s  _ offensive _ .

The Shadow screams in his face and Fox’s eyes squeeze shut, expecting the claws to penetrate his skull and brain, end his suffering right then and there.

Fox meets the ground once more along with the monster’s shorn forearm.

He feels the overwhelming heat of flames, a burst of wind that tousles his hair, the familiar cold of ice, and something much more powerful that he can never pinpoint a comparison to, but knows it is pure and raw energy. He sees their colors against his closed eyelids and reluctantly opens them.

Joker shuffles through a multitude of Personas so quickly that Fox is unable to name each one, but he recognizes them. Powerful beings that Joker only used when they were in a pinch.

He calls out his attacks, voice syncing with each spell that barrels into the Shadow in a relentless assault of elements.

Only when the Shadow curls pathetically does he stop.

Joker reaches for his mask. “Saklas!”

It is not a name Fox has ever heard Joker call. He’s puzzled at how ordinary it looks: White plated body that reminds him of medieval armor, its blank polygonal face like a mirror. Sprouting from its shoulder blades are what appear to be golden, metallic feathers. Around its neck are rings of more gold, like a choker. It shines like a diamond caught in the shafts of light.

And Fox recognizes frustration in Joker’s voice. His mask is still plastered to his face. The Persona does not move, silent as a statue.

“Dammit!” he spits, and it’s so unlike Joker that for a second Fox’s mind goes blank. He switches Personas with practiced ease, but Fox can see the anger in his movements, the impatience with his own abilities.

Slowly, he pushes against his limbs wishes and stumbles to his feet. Dizziness swamps his senses and he already wishes he was laying down again. “Joker.” he calls hoarsely.

He looks, lips parting to answer back.

But the Shadow slithers around Joker with unnatural speed and rushes at Fox once more.

He’s still trapped in his own shock to register how close it is until it lurches off the ground, rearing its arm back. Its fingers join together, molding into a fine blade not unlike a rapier.

In his panic, he calls on ice. But it only sputters weakly against the rocks.

The Shadow’s sword pierces through Joker’s body.

“Joker!!”

It scrapes through Fox’s throat, expels from him and echoes back on the walls.

A noise is pulled from him when the Shadow draws back, fingers painted a red that catches in the eerie lighting of the room. It too makes a gurgling sound before it falls back, collapses into dust the minute its body touches the ground.

Fox catches Joker in his arms, cradles him as best with Joker’s back pressed against his knee. Blood wells from the puncture wound, and Fox knows he’s supposed to put pressure on injuries… right? Then why wasn’t he doing it--

“...okay…?”

He blinks, glancing to Joker’s tired face. “What?”

“Are you...okay…?” Joker tries again. 

The truth? No. He felt as if his body was going to break. But he also wasn’t the one bleeding like a fountain pen.

If only he summoned Kamu Susano-o earlier-

“You’ll be fine,” he says instead, throat tightened by some invisible vice. No healing. No medical supplies. “Just hang on, Joker. I’ll…”  _ carry you _ ? No, that was impossible in their current states. He grits his teeth, rage boiling in his stomach at the hopelessness of it all.

Joker’s mask burns from his face and Saklas appears once again.

Fox swallows, looking from the Persona to its user. “C-Can you heal yourself?”

But Joker's face creases with anger. He chokes out, “You’re the last…  _ thing  _ I want to see… Get out of my sight.”

His heart stutters at the unforgiving cold woven into Joker’s voice.

Saklas does not speak. It crouches by their side, holds out its three-fingered hand, as if reaching for them. And Fox recognizes the colors and aura of a third-tier healing spell, the one Mona, Panther, and even Joker would use if someone’s wounds were too grave.

Relief fills him as the spell weaves from its fingers, as if his very injuries were pulling themselves together…

...and the world goes black.

* * *

When his eyes open, he stares up at familiar dark walls with an uncomfortable plank of a bed underneath him. The Velvet Room does not have a unique smell nor does he hear the ringing he’s come to associate it with, but he does recognize the man at the desk and his reluctant helper at the front. The false God’s sneer is disgusting and everything rushes back at once. He sits up hastily, stumbles to the open door of his cell and squeezes his eyes shut against the dizzying blackness that dips in and out of his vision.

He still feels that terrible monster’s sword. But there’s no pain or blood attached to the stab wound. Yaldabaoth must have healed it while he was asleep. Or maybe it’s because this is all some dream and cognition had no effect here.

The light from the round room spills onto him and he winces.

“I see you’re awake.” Yaldabaoth says nonchalantly.

Akira does not grace him with an answer. He walks closer, eyes still squinted against the change in lighting.

“Do not worry. I found the remaining Phantom Thieves and relocated them somewhere safe. They’re all waiting for you back in your room in the real world,” he continues, voice twisted from his irritating smile. “You and your team suffered heavily in that last mission.”

“No thanks to you!” Akira snaps. Lavenza flinches when he slams his fist atop the desk. “That Persona you gave me was useless. I had to sit and watch as that  _ thing  _ nearly beat my friend to death. Saklas told me it had the power to kill it, but it lied.  _ You  _ lied.”

Yaldabaoth chuckles darkly. “But you handled it quite well, didn’t you? Your other Personas had no problem defeating him, and you managed to navigate despite being separated from the others by that sinkhole. That alone is rather admirable.”

His teeth grit, and he has half a mind to lunge forward and grab him by the lapels of that damn suit. “So you were watching us the whole time?!” his voice rises in time with his growing anger. “If you want us to change the hearts of your humanity, then you can’t be giving me defunct Personas. Take your admiration and shove it up your--”

“I never gave you a ‘defunct Persona’, trickster…” Yaldabaoth says slowly, corners of his mouth unhinging his smile. “I kept my word: You sacrifice an arcana, you will be allowed to summon Saklas. I never said anything about using its power.”

Akira takes a step back, clenches the fabric of his pants so he doesn’t lash out and punch it. It does little to stem his anger, but it would have to do. “You lied--”

“I did not.” Yaldabaoth counters pointedly. “If you want to use its power, it will require another sacrifice.”

“Then take it back. I don’t need it.”

“You should be grateful to Saklas. He still chose to heal you and your friend. Most Personas do not think of their own accord. This one did. I believe he will be a valuable asset should you put more time into him,” he rests his head in his hand, nails drumming against the table in such a way that was normal but undeniably annoying in that moment. “I refuse to reclaim him; especially where Saklas has taken a liking to you.”

A shiver runs through him. Akira did not like the sound of that. He couldn’t explain why, and maybe it was just his disgust with Yaldabaoth, but it didn’t seem  _ right _ . His Personas were a part of him and there had always been this level of respect. But Saklas was gained through abnormal means.

_ It  _ was abnormal.

“I won’t use it.”

“So you say. But he will be there if you need, should you change your mind. As will I and Lavenza.”

Her jaw tightens as her name is used. “Be careful on your next journey, trickster. Those Shadows you fought are a result of corrupt cognition. The longer you take to steal hearts, the more they will appear,” she avoids his eyes. “Please be careful.”

Something told him it was more than ‘corrupt cognition’ - whatever that meant. But he doesn’t want to look at them. He wants to return to Leblanc, to see his friends. He should thank Yaldabaoth for helping him, but he can’t bring himself to speak the words. So he turns his back on them.

He doesn’t regret not asking about the bone in Inokashira Park.

\--

Akira wakes when Morgana is cocooned at the foot of the bed, curled up in the realm of sleep.

They all woke in Leblanc’s attic except for Futaba Sakura, who sent a group text from her room. With Akira asleep, Ann and Ryuji took to visiting her while everyone else remained at the cafe. Sojiro had questions, so Makoto and Haru stayed downstairs. Although, even they couldn't’ answer how they wound up from Mementos to Leblanc.

It’s as if there is a  _ gap  _ in his memories.

Yusuke still remembers the fresh pain that coursed through his body from the Shadow’s assault. He did not have the wounds or the burn to prove it, but it was impossible to forget.

He watches quietly as Akira leans back against the wall, cradles his head in his hand. It should be obvious that he was just as tired. For once, he almost seems human. It’s a terrible thought to cross his mind. And yet the Joker in Mementos had been unsettlingly angry, ready to abandon everyone to pursue their shared target.

Sitting in this bed is not Joker.

Despite how uncharacteristic Joker had been, he still threw himself between Yusuke and the enemy.

That was right. It was foolish to think Joker was gone. If he was, would he have taken such a dangerous hit?

Yusuke doesn’t want to know and hopes he never has to find out.

“Are you okay?” Akira’s voice is hoarse.

He shifts on the couch, leans forward on his knees. “More or less,” Yusuke mumbles. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Where are the others?”

“Makoto and Haru are downstairs,” Yusuke responds automatically, as if giving a report instead of striking up conversation. “Although you may want to check on Futaba later. Out of all of us, she was the most shaken when we woke up here. Ryuji and Ann are with her now.” he pauses. “Akira, do you know what warped us out of Mementos?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. Yusuke is too tired to ask him for the truth. “What matters is we’re safe. I want to continue where we left off, but…” his words break into a sigh. “I don’t think that’s our best course of action right now. Not if it’s left everyone shaken up.”

“I agree,” Yusuke says, unable to help the bitterness from leaking into his voice. “We are not like Joker.”

Akira looks to Morgana, frowning in what Yusuke assumes is concern.

_ He can’t tell anymore _ .

For a second, he thinks Akira is going to wake him, and the protest sits patiently. Yusuke relaxes when he strokes his fur instead. “What happened to Morgana?”

Ah, he…  _ had  _ omitted Morgana from his recap. The truth is… “I don’t know. Ann wasn’t ready to talk. She made sure Morgana was safe before leaving to see Futaba. I suppose it’s something we’ll both learn later.”

Akira hums in response.

Their phones vibrate loudly. Ryuji’s unread message pops up in a little notification box.

**RYUJI [17:11].** she’s doin ok. me n ann r gonna head out. we meetn tomorrow?

He stares at it without really staring, listening as Akira taps back a response.

**AKIRA [17:12].** Not for Mementos. Let’s take tomorrow off. Get some rest; you all deserve it.

**RYUJI [17:13].** oh shit ur awake?

**FUTABA [17:14].** *u’re

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Akira says quietly.

“Hm?”

“Back in Mementos,” he continues, petting Morgana absentmindedly. “You were right: We should have focused on finding everyone else before trying to complete the mission. I’m not sure what came over me, but I just wanted…” his hand falls from Morgana’s head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s something wrong with Mementos and we can’t let that stop us.”

“But charging in would be reckless.” Yusuke interjects, hoping to douse whatever idea cooks in Akira’s head.

“I know. Still,” he exhales. “Thanks for your help today.”

Yusuke blinks slowly. “There is no need for gratitude,” he assures, but he  _ is  _ grateful. “After all, you were the one who saved me.”

He recalls the panic that strangled him when it happened. It was far from pleasant, but he would be sure to keep it as a reminder. For as irritated as he had been, he never wants to see Akira -  _ anyone  _ \- throw themselves in the line of danger. Yusuke felt he was the most expendable out of the thieves.

There were times he questioned what Akira saw in him.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he says, “I would have done the same for you.”

And Akira meets his stare vacantly. “I know you would.”

_ Of course _ , is what he should say, and maybe they’d share a laugh over it. But there is no light of amusement in Akira’s eyes. It is not a gracious response. It is stated like a fact, that he  _ knew  _ Yusuke would put himself on the line without hesitation.

He felt like a pawn on a chessboard. An expendable piece.

Maybe he hadn’t been wrong to think that of himself.

Akira seems to agree.

It tightens something in his chest and it feels  _ horrible _ .

Yusuke rises from the couch, stuffs his phone in his back pocket. “Well, if that’s all for today, I’ll be off.” he pauses at the top of the stairs.  _ I’ll be there if you need me _ . “...See you.” and he doesn’t wait for Akira’s response.

He almost forgets Makoto and Haru are still there.

“You heading out?” Sojiro says first.

“Is he awake?” Haru chimes in.

Yusuke nods to both of them. “I should return to the dorms,” he says. “Akira is awake, but he may need his rest.” and he excuses himself as he makes way for the door. “Thank you for watching over us.”

“No need for that,” Sojiro scoffs, but it’s lighthearted. “Be careful on the way home, alright?”

“Text us when you get home,” Makoto adds, and there’s something else in her voice. Perhaps she was unnerved by Akira’s behavior as well. But he’s too tired to think on it.

So he nods.

The little bell on the door announces his departure.


	4. the apathy; it lingers

“Hey.”

Akira waits for the lecture, but all he hears is Morgana huffing, curling tighter into a ball at his feet. “You’re awake?”

“What was that for?” Morgana continues sharply. His blue eyes are stark against the backdrop of black fur. “You _know_ he’d do anything to make sure nothing happens to you. We all would. But you act like it was nothing. Do you know how much he got hurt fighting that Shadow?”

He shrugs. The words refuse to come and Morgana’s gaze continues to bore into him. Eventually, he scoffs and Akira’s almost positive he’s going to leap off the bed and go bother Sojiro and the others downstairs.

Morgana does no such thing.

“Just make sure you apologize to him- _not_ with your phone!” he snaps. Akira clicks the Home button anyway. It’s not as if he were going to talk to anyone.

Silence fills the cracks between them. His phone listens quietly in anticipation, unfed with the usual barrage of messages that lit up the group chat. He scrolls through the backlog, finding only five or so texts between the conversation that early afternoon to now. No one seemed to be in a talkative mood.

 _What a shame_.

 **RYUJI [15:48].** how’s morgana?

 **MAKOTO [15:50].** He woke up, but fell back asleep.

 **MAKOTO [15:51].** It may have something to do with his Persona.

 **ANN [15:54].** i wish i knew what happened.

Akira looks to Morgana, who’s all but turned his back on him. He didn’t know what happened, and Yusuke had been absolutely no help in that regard. “Is there something wrong with your Persona?” he echoes Makoto’s text.

A pause.

For a handful of seconds, he’s convinced Morgana’s lulled himself back to sleep, but his voice spills into his ears. “I don’t know.” and leaves it at that.

He realizes he’s come to _loathe_ the silence in the past two weeks. It’s suffocating, but more often than not, too risky to break. The false God had gifted him with an arsenal of Personas that each had their own unique ability. That didn’t mean they could give him the power to peer into the minds of his friends. With how everyone danced around one another (around _him),_ he wishes he could scan their thoughts.

“How do you not know—”

“I just don’t!” Morgana springs up like a missle, tail twitching madly as the fur stood erect on his back and neck. “Just like I don’t know why you’ve been sneaking around without telling anyone!” he breaks off in a huff. “I don’t know what changed and I don’t know where you go on some nights. But every time you disappear and come back, you’re different and I don’t like it.”

The words are like needs that prick his skin.

( _just like those needles in the interrogation room, right?)_

He grips his forearm self-consciously, eyes sliding to the sleeve of his blazer. The fabric twists in his fingers as he grips and grinds it against his skin underneath. He remembers the itching from the injections and how it pinched him and spit its venom into his veins.

Yaldabaoth’s fractured smile. Lavenza’s sad eyes. The loud silence of the Velvet Room.

They couldn’t see. They wouldn’t understand. And—

“You wouldn’t get it.” Akira finds himself saying quietly.

“No, I don’t, because you don’t talk to me!” he yowls. “But you’ve changed - even down to your scent.”

He frowns at his arm. “What do you mean?”

“I… It’s hard to explain,” Morgana says again, voice softening and ears drooping. “I don’t like it on you though. It’s familiar, but it’s also vile. I don’t think it’s something that should be on a human.” he pads closer, sliding into Akira’s peripheral vision. “But it reminds me of the times we would raid Palaces. You know, when you would sometimes stare off into space and then come back with a new Persona?”

Akira nods against the numbness dripping into his body. No one saw the Velvet Room. To them, he looked like a freak. Sometimes they joked about it. Their jests wouldn’t have been frequent had they known the Velvet Room was practically a storage house for a Wildcard. His Personas had saved them one time too many.

But Morgana continues. “It’s like that, but worse. Wherever you’re going, I don’t like it, he repeats. “It’s dangerous and it’s changing you. So stop going to it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Then what’s keeping you there?”

Leblanc’s bell sings from downstairs, and he hears Makoto and Haru’s voice briefly followed by Sojiro’s ‘be careful’.

They both expect the sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards, but Sojiro does not announce himself at the bottom of the stairs nor does he call up to Akira. He thinks he hears the sound of the sink running before that too hisses into silence. Sojiro shuffles around the cafe before the light flicks off.

The bell rings a third time that night and darkness swallows everything whole.

“It’s for power,” Akira replies before he can think. He’s not sure why he says what he says. He just does.

Morgana doesn’t answer at first. He moves around the bed, retreating to his spot at Akira’s feet. “I know our missions haven’t exactly been easy and you may find yourself getting desperate... But maybe you need to find another place to get this ‘power’ that you keep going back for.”

“What if I can’t protect them?” the words tumble out again and again. His mind screams for them to stop, but his mouth won’t listen. “What if this is my last resort?”

“If lying to your team and refusing to trust us is part of your ‘last resort’...” Morgana starts slowly. “then you have no chance of winning whatever you’re fighting.” He curls in on himself again, uttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘good night’.

Akira slides back under the covers, rolls onto his side. Aimless thoughts conjured by Morgana’s words swim in and out of his head, but he doesn’t give them chase. Instead, he stares at the windowsill, at the moonlight spilling onto the windowsill.

He wonders if Yaldabaoth was watching him now…

The thought alone drags sleep further from his grasp, a shudder scraping down his spine.

* * *

He feels the vibration of the train’s hum against the railroad tracks. The pole is cool against his palm and fingers, and he leans his head against it. Fatigue drags at his eyes and tugs his limbs into numbness. Yusuke tries to keep his attention on the adjacent passengers. People-watching always lulled his mind, but today, he finds them utterly distracting - even the ones who sit quietly.

Scenery rushes by too fast for him to create a coherent picture. But it’s not as if he had the intention to sketch while on the train.

The recent drawings in his sketchbook were of random objects strewn about his room from a bowl of fruit to the weeping bean sprout plants. He ponders if the motivation and inspiration had been beaten out of him by the Shadows in Mementos, and Returning to the comfort of his dorm had not helped.

“ _I know you would…”_ Akira’s words ricochet off the walls of his mind, taunting and arrogant even if they had been spoken as plainly as an unenthusiastic teacher giving a half-hour lecture. 

They spun around in his head, biting at any traces of sleep that threatened to erode his thoughts as he lay in bed. They won, robbing him of a decent 8-hours worth of rest. It was the inability to draw that chased him from Kosei and onto the train. He didn’t want to think about his next project or the half-finished drawings of his friends.

Yusuke presses closer to the wall as the opposing doors open. More people surge into the train’s belly and he’s grateful that his stop is the next on the list. 

He starts at the gentle tap on his shoulder, rolling on the ball of his foot to move away. “Sorry.” is the automatic response, and he turns to face them--

\--Akira meets his stare, dark eyes behind darker-framed glasses.

Yusuke slams his gaze to the floor. His mouth is dry, the words are stuck, and his heart is beginning to speed up to a jog. “It’s you.”

“Yeah.” _I know you would. I know you’d throw away your life for me had it been the other way around._ There’s no accompanying voice, and Yusuke peels his attention from the floor back to Akira to his school bag. Akira blinks in the face of Yusuke’s confusion before piecing it together. “Morgana’s still not feeling well.”

“I see…” and he frowns. Morgana had been out of commission for the majority of the night. “Will he be prepared for next time?”

Akira hums, shoulders lifting in a shrug before he stares out the window at their moving surroundings. “I hope so.” comes his despondent answer.

Once again, Akira bestows him with pure apathy. Yusuke’s too tired to feel the same anger he felt back in Mementos. But it still stings. “You should ask him if there’s something you can do to help.” he says cautiously, suddenly aware of his surroundings. It would be wrong to speak too much of the Metaverse here. “Or if we can all be of assistance.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Akira looks at him pointedly. “He knows just as much as we do and keeping him locked up is about as good as sending him out into danger.”

“What rubbish.” Yusuke snaps, and for a moment, he forgets where they are. “Ann told me what happened. If not getting hurt means he must suffer of boredom in Leblanc, then so be it.” Akira’s eyes slide from Yusuke’s like a raindrop skating down a window’s surface. Yusuke has grown to truly dislike this side to him. “As our leader, it is your responsibility to be aware of your team’s wellbeing. This has never been a problem for you before, yet it poses as a concerning obstacle now.” _What happened?_ He wants to say.

“ _Ssh!_ ” someone hisses. It’s a young woman who’s done a marvelous job of keeping her nose buried in her book for the past handful of minutes.

Irritation prickles beneath his skin, but he knows how annoying small noise can occasionally be. So he holds his tongue.

“As fun as this is, Yusuke,” Akira says slowly. “We need to talk somewhere else. Now’s not the time.”

“It’s been difficult finding ‘a time’ suitable for both of us.” he quips, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.

The look he receives from Akira is cross. “Forget it.” he rolls his eyes. “I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”

He grits his teeth. “That is something we can agree on.”

Yusuke has half a mind to move to the other side of the cart or take the empty seat by the lady who shushed them. But he’s stuck between the pole and Akira, and he wants to brush against neither. If the sign above the door was any indication, the stop to Shibuya would be arriving soon. _‘Not soon enough’_ , the bitter thought flits in, departing just as quickly.

So he stands.

The light shifts through the paned glass at intervals, spilling at their feet and catching in Akira’s hair and bouncing off his face. The mumbling of the train rushes back into his ears as he wills himself to calm down. Making a scene in public would do little good.

It’s all quite interesting how tired Akira can be yet still appear so calm to an outsider looking in. He is eye-catching in his own way. For as angry as Yusuke is, he can’t deny there’s an unkempt beauty to Akira. He’s not Ann; he could never _be_ Ann. However, there are layers to Akira he wants to peel back. Drawing him as he was now would make it impossible to capture his true essence.

When they weren’t at ends, Akira could be a wellspring of inspiration. But now he is the very block damming his motivation.

Even when he guided them through Mementos, or when he fought that Shadow with the purple mask, or how he channeled his strongest Personas to defend Yusuke. He doesn’t feel the desire to draw when he recalls those memories; he only feels fear and the ghost of the Shadow’s claws scraping his skull.

“ _Now approaching: Shibuya…_ ”

He stands straighter. “Where are you going?”

“Akihabara,” Akira responds.

The doors part and he siddles out among the bushel of people forcing their way onto the platform. Akira follows behind him until they reach the entrance of Shibuya’s station square. Yusuke can’t fathom why he sticks to him like dew to a leaf, but he doesn’t have it in him to ask.

Yusuke starts at Akira’s hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Akira admits, and Yusuke’s almost drawn back at the sincerity in his voice. He sighs, rooting for his phone when it rings.

Yusuke waits patiently as Akira reads whatever text was sent. He’s curious, but the atmosphere between them is as fragile as glass. He does not wish to shatter it. “After what that Shadow did to you, it was stupid of me to say that.”

He doesn’t look up from his phone.

Yusuke wonders how uncouth it would be to knock it out of his hand.

The stream of people that babbles around them are swept in their own conversations, but he feels as if every word that flutters from their mouth is about _them_. It is an unexplainable feeling of paranoia that seeps into his veins. It is illogical to believe that he and Akira are at the forefront of their minds.

And while he appreciates the apology, he would have preferred somewhere with less eyes.

Yusuke averts his eyes when he realizes Akira is waiting for a response, phone put away. A wave of nausea curls in his stomach. “Indeed, it was rather careless,” he admits with honesty. “But if I may: I find your lack of consideration for your team disturbing. When we reached the dead-end in Mementos, your insistence on pursuing our target despite our disadvantage was concerning.”

Akira watches carefully.

He continues, already feeling the acid drip into his words. Sometimes, he can’t catch the vial from spilling its poison into his voice, despite all the practice he had when faced with Madarame and the other students. “You forget that you are dealing with humans, and you too have limits just as us.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs over them like a cloud. It’s different. He would proudly admit that he and Akira were on a level of respect where they could have sat together for hours on end without having to break the atmosphere with words. Sometimes they were in Leblanc, other times they were in Yusuke’s room. No matter the location, it never felt distance. Near Akira and their friends, he felt safe. _Home_.

This silence is like an unwelcome stranger.

“Contact me if something important arises.” he finds himself saying, turning to the mouth of the station.

Akira doesn’t stop him when he walks away, but Yusuke wishes he did.

He navigates through all-too familiar Shibuya listlessly. It’s unnaturally bright outside despite the winter air, and he’s almost envious of the people who chat aimlessly about their job or business or drama. It’s normal, and something Yusuke knows he won’t be getting back any time soon. He struggles to recall the last time he could put all his focus into his art, and he tries not to think about the easy slip-ups on his last test.

But it’s difficult to push aside the mild shock that cracked his homeroom teacher’s face. Though the opinion of his classmates did not deter him, he couldn’t deny the embarrassment when the whispers of students babbled. An average mark is not something he is often associated with, and for a while, the news would light up their classroom.

It didn’t matter. But then it did. Because he had a future ahead of him once this Phantom Thief business was finished…

...didn’t he?

Big Bang Burger’s overly cheerful sign beams down brightly at him. For as dirty as its labor had been, it still remains tall, unyielding to whatever winds of fate blew in whichever direction. Its president may be gone, but in its place was one Okumura Haru. Even if Haru didn’t want to inherit the food chain, she still had it to catch her with a worn net should her goal to open a cafe shrivel and die before it gets the chance to bloom.

In all this mess, where was his future?

Prepare for third-year exams, study abroad is a possibility, go to an art university... all while making time for Phantom Thievery on the side.

As he distances himself from the restaurant, he realizes Haru would suffer the same predicament.

She is _not_ unlike him - future in mind or not.

Whatever deal was made, whatever Joker signed, he had somehow chained them to a double life.

Yusuke could _never_ be free of the Metaverse. _None_ of them.

Not in this world.

He opens the door to Untouchable, the heater an unexpected relief against the cold that tries to follow him into the mouth of the tiny shop. The man behind the counter, Iwai Munehisa, is nowhere to be seen, but Yusuke can hear him. He’s unfamiliar with the outline of the store. Most of the buying and selling had been done by Akira, and only one of those trips Yusuke had accompanied him. But the display case full of different blades and knives support the cash register and a spread of airsoft guns.

The katana supported on its little pedestal is not the same purple and pink dyed blade that he’s carried with him since the latter half of Okumura’s Palace. His shoulders slump dejectedly, but he crouches to look closer anyway. It’s a katana he’s used before. It’s nowhere near as strong or capable of inflicting a terrible status ailment on unexpecting Shadows.

He still has to check the price...

“You want a closer look?”

Yusuke starts, head whipping in the direction of the voice.

Iwai doesn’t apologize for startling him; Yusuke isn’t expecting one. “Well?”

He glances back to the katana, hoping it’ll change to a different color when he looks back, but it does no such thing. Red and gold crusted hilt with no rose tints to be seen. Only 11400 yen—

His mind screeches to a halt. “11400…?” he reads softly. “That’s…”

“Can’t exactly make this type of stuff cheap.” Iwai mutters, sitting down in his chair. “Got a business to run.”

Only now does it hit him that he should’ve asked Akira for the Mementos money. “I understand,” he responds. There is nothing to offer aside from three bills of 1000 yen.

Silence drifts between them, and Yusuke feels Iwai’s eyes bore into his side. He _needed_ that sword, or maybe he could grab the axe- oh, no, that was 28800 yen. He’d have to leave the axe-swinging to Haru. A shame. Mastering another weapon would certainly aid them in--

“Hey, haven’t I seen you before?”

Yusuke’s partially relieved to look away from those large numbers. He could practically _feel_ his wallet sighing. “I’ve come here with a friend.” he answers truthfully.

“Let me guess: kid with glasses and dark hair, never touched a comb in his life?”

“That is… not an entirely incorrect description,” Yusuke says, amusement flickering inside him.

Iwai’s gaze drifts to the katana. For a brief second, Yusuke wonders if he’s said the wrong thing, but then Iwai is pulling it from the case and placing it on the table. “I’m not giving it for free.” he says curtly. “I’ll lower the price since you’re friends with my part-timer,” Iwai pauses. “but in exchange, I want to know a few things.”

Yusuke’s stomach feels heavy, his mouth dry. He nods anyway. The most he could do was politely decline. “I’ll answer what I can.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna torture you.” Iwai sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, but his face is serious. “It’s not any of my business, but has he been doing alright?”

That type of question is not what Yusuke had been expecting from a man like Iwai. Perhaps there was more depth to him than meets the eye. More importantly, Yusuke’s not sure how to respond. He hardly knows Iwai and he doesn’t know how much Iwai knew Akira. If he _knew_ they were all Phantom Thieves.

He says, “Why do you ask?”

“Answering a question with a question isn't going to get you this.” he nudges the katana.

‘ _I’ve changed my mind._ ’ he wants to say, but Yusuke’s not someone who quit easily. “I don’t see him often.” he lies. Partially. “We’re all busy with our studies.” it’s an excuse Makoto would use, but it always works...

“No hearts to steal?”

...except when he uses it.

“I…” Phantom Thieves aside, ‘ _steal hearts_ ’ is a phrase Yusuke is positive Futaba has shared with him from one of those silly ‘pickup lines’ websites. It became less fun for her when Yusuke failed to respond accordingly. “...have no interest in dating.”

Iwai pinches the space between his brows. “Alright, I’ll just cut to the chase then…” he exhales. “I asked you because your friend has been loitering around this store at night. He stands at the corner of the street and the minute I look away, he’s gone. For a while, I thought he was looking for work, but he hasn’t said a word. That’s what I wanted to know.”

Yusuke traces back to his little stroll earlier. Passed Big Bang Burger. Undoubtedly passed the alleged spot Iwai speaks of. He digs and digs for anything suspicious that may have caught his eye. The blood in his veins chills.

He overheard his conversations with Morgana sometimes, when they both thought they were alone. Morgana was always berating Akira for _something_. About not being at Leblanc.

“Looks like you don’t know either…”

Yusuke shakes his head. “I mean it when I say I have not seen him,” he says, preparing to shed light on the other half of his earlier confession, brush out the lie and answer. “Not in the sense you are thinking. Our paths occasionally cross during the week, but it has been ages since we’ve…” _acted as friends_. “...talked.”

“I see.” his thumb presses against the lid of his hat. “I don’t know what’s going on with him, but keep an eye out on your friend.” and then he pushes the katana to Yusuke. “You’d best be on your guard; something’s not right with this world anymore.”

And despite the heater and his blazer, Yusuke feels terribly cold. He dips his head in a nod. “Thank you—”

The door rears back on its hinges and the voice that cuts him off is not Iwai’s. 

“Damn, I’m beat…” Ryuji yawns loudly. He rubs at his eye before freezing in his tracks. “Yusuke? What’re you doing here?”

“Hey, you’re letting the cold air in.” Iwai snaps.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“And you…” Iwai’s attention snaps back to Yusuke. “I’ll sell it for 6000. It’s a good deal, so I’d take it if I were you.”

Yusuke swallows. “I only have 3000…” and then his eyes catch Ryuji’s.

Ryuji looks from Yusuke to the katana to Iwai and back to Yusuke. A beat. Then, he sighs, digging through his pocket. “Man, the hell’s Akira when you need him…”

* * *

“Don’t know how he does it.” Ryuji says once they’re back on central street.  “That guy always looks ready to punch out lights and Akira walks up to him like it’s nothing.”

 _It’s expected of our leader_. The words fly to his mouth automatically, but the thought of releasing them into the air makes him nauseous… or maybe that was the hunger pains. He says nothing, humming his agreement instead.

The katana’s light in his grasp and he could carry it around Shibuya, but the idea of being pulled aside by the police for walking around with weapons wasn’t how he wanted to spend the remainder of the day. He knows it goes without saying that Ryuji feels the same.

“Damn thing got my weapon too…” Ryuji mutters, tapping the steel pipe lightly against his leg. “Now I’m stuck with this shitty one. Though yours ain’t that great either… Ah damn, reminds me that Makoto’s gonna need new ones too. Think we should’ve gotten something for her?”

They were rather low-tier in the damage department. And with the overwhelming strength of the new Shadows, they needed the best of the best. Personas were powerful, but they could be unpredictable.

Like Saklas.

He jumps when Ryuji punches him lightly in the arm. “You alright? You keep staring off into space.”

“Don’t worry,” Yusuke shakes his head quickly, brushing at the stubborn bang that falls in front of his eyes. “I have some errands that need taken care of.”

“Telling me not to worry ain’t gonna make me worry less…” Ryuji mutters, and for a second, it seems he’s going to let this go. Forget about it. Water under the bridge. “Look, if this is about what happened in Mementos yesterday, you don’t gotta… be scared or anything.”

... _What_? “What?”

“You know. The Shadows? Those giant, piles of shit slime… then there was that one you told us about, with the mask and all. If I were you, I’d a been freaked out too - Joker there or not.”

Yusuke recognizes patterns better. He knows when someone is extending their hand to help, palm upturned with whatever worked best as feed. Akira’s done it to him many times, but Ryuji just threw the seeds at him, peering over his shoulder and not-so-subtly pushing at him to eat. He doesn’t ease in; he cuts to the chase.

But Ryuji is wrong, and Yusuke will not eat out of that hand.

“I wasn’t scared.” he says quietly.

Ryuji pauses. “...Huh?”

He’s wrong. “I wasn’t scared,” he repeats firmly. “I struggled against it, but we emerged on top. It didn’t frighten me or Joker.”

( _He looked like such a_ child _. It was pathetic. It was_ offensive.)

“I knew what I was doing and I had our situation under control.”

( _Joker’s blood sticky on his fingertips._ )

“That mistake will not happen again as long as I keep myself aware.”

(“ _I would have done the same for you.” “I know you would_.”)

“But I am not some expendable piece on a board. I can help too, I—”

Ryuji gives him a violent shake and the sunlight stings his eyes. He blinks, seeing the creases of concern and outright disturbance twisted in Ryuji’s face. His hand aches and he realizes he’s holding the katana so hard his entire wrist is trembling. 

“Okay, dude, just… holy shit, I don’t give a damn what you said earlier. You’re _not_ okay.” Ryuji says. “What was that all about?”

Yusuke doesn’t answer, eyes sliding away from Ryuji’s face and back to that damned Big Bang Burger sign. If people are staring at them, he doesn’t care. Let them. He’d have time to worry about everyone staring at him in class tomorrow.

“You ain’t expendable, man…” Ryuji huffs, turning his back on him. His gaze lingers on what Yusuke assumes is the fast food store… or maybe it’s at the moderately dressed girl by the glass doors.

“I’m starving.” he says suddenly, turning back to Yusuke. “Come on.” he tugs insistently at Yusuke’s wrist. “My mom won’t be home ‘till tonight so I’m free. Let’s drop these off at my house and get something to eat.”

Yusuke blinks. “I spent all my money on the katana.”

“Well, the other 3000 yen came from me. Anyway, I’ll pay for you; we’ll take today off. Ramen alright with you?”

Yusuke’s almost grateful his stomach doesn’t answer for him. “I suppose,” and Ryuji starts pulling him along. “but if at all possible, I’d prefer a place that has a richer broth. Light ramen isn’t very filling.”

Ryuji scoffs. “What’re you saying? It’s the _noodles_ you gotta worry about.”

And Yusuke almost smiles.

Almost.

* * *

**RYUJI [13:03].** did something happen between yusuke and akira?

 **ANN [13:07].** not that I know?? Why?

 **ANN [13:11].** but hasn’t akira been a little different lately? maybe something _*_ did _*_ happen.

* * *

**RYUJI [14:57].** hey

“...and you’re not listening.” Mishima breaks off exasperatedly.

Akira hits the power button on his phone, placing it back on the table face-down. They’re at one of those cheap corner restaurants in Akihabara. The Maid Cafe would have been too awkward and it was too cold to stand outside.

“I am.” it vibrates a second time.

“Uh, Kuru-- I mean, Akira…? Have things felt… strange to you, lately?”

He has to still his hand from reaching for the phone when it shakes with another message. Couldn’t this _wait_ ? But he focuses on Mishima, on the tired look on his face to his slumped posture. “No.” Akira answers. At least _he_ didn’t feel different.

Mishima drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m… really tired.” he drags a finger down the screen of his phone. “Anyway, this one sounds interesting. A few people have spoken out about it too.” Mishima plucks it from the table, reading aloud whatever notes he jotted down. “There’s a man who treats his clients horribly. Someone who got laid off after Shido Masayoshi’s confession” ( _Akira’s heart skips a beat, hand curling into a fist.)_ “says this man still works in the department, but they’ve come clean about some cruel interrogations. They say this man has altered official confessions and is known for police brutality. Since then, more people have spoken out.”

“Police brutality…” Akira echoes.

It is to be expected with the justice system slowly repairing itself after the hell that Shido brought to it. Or maybe police brutality had always been an issue and he had the displeasure of seeing it up close. Feeling it. In his eye. His face. His body. Leg crushed beneath a heartless man’s foot when Akira refused to sign the confession.

A thin needle for his arm and neck, and maybe one to just poke him for the hell of it.

“Akira, you’re…” Mishima gestures vaguely, discomfort breaking out on his face. “...shaking.”

…

So he is.

His palms feel clammy, and he shoves his hands under the table, wiping them on his pants. “Continue.”

Mishima hesitates, but at Akira’s unyielding stare, he does as told. “His name is Oda Eiji. I think the government has the Phan-site tracked… Some of the messages are being deleted and I had to catch this guy's name before they hacked in again. There are some more requests too, but this seems to be the most popular one.”

“How long has it been popular?” Akira asks.

“I…” he chews his lower lip. “For two days now. But everything comes in so fast that it kept getting buried.”

A request to change a heart needed to be instantly dealt with. Less they want another Palace on their hands. At this rate, they were going to be working from dusk until dawn. _If it kept getting buried then how come you knew it was high on the list?_ “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, well, it’d be nice if the actual Phantom Thieves could look at the site themselves for once.”

Akira blinks at the cutting edge of the words.

Mishima instantly looks apologetic, withdrawing into himself like he did whenever Kamoshida raised his voice or so much as looked at him. “I’m, I’m sorry, Akira. I just… The truth is, I haven’t been looking at the site. I don’t know why, but I just feel empty. I don’t even have it in me to work on my manuscript.” he bows his head in apology. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not.” _Just confused_. “Do you need to talk?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Mishima rises from his seat. “If it’s not too much trouble though, I’m going to need a bit longer. There are a lot of requests. We’re getting about dozens each day and it’s hard to sort which one sounds the most urgent. It makes me wonder what the police are up to.”

 _Beating up kids and shoving needles under their skin_ , he almost retorts before following Mishima out the cafe.

“Just give me some time. Now, your biggest one is Oda.” he pauses. “I haven’t heard from Takamura-san… You changed his boss’ heart too, right?”

The names blur in his mind as do his meetings with the rest of his team. There were three targets one day, they went to Mementos after seeing the bone in Inokashira, and…

...they never changed Takamura’s boss.

“Oh…” Mishima’s shoulders drop. “Well, do that one first then. He keeps messaging asking when it’s going to happen. And there’s also Miaki-san too, but I don’t think hers is as urgent.”

“Yeah,” Akira nods. “We’ll do our best.”

He doesn’t appear convinced, but Mishima smiles anyway. “You guys always do. Just don’t overdo it.”

“Same to you.”

They don’t walk to the station together and Akira waits for Mishima to mold with the small crowd before he pulls out his phone. His fingers tremble from the cold as he pulls open the new messages from Ryuji. One from Futaba.

 **RYUJI [14:59].** i aint gettin anything out of yusuke so im askin u.

 **RYUJI [15:01].** what happened yesterday after we got separated? he’s actin weird

 **RYUJI [15:05].** weirrd for yusuke standards.

“Dammit…” Akira mutters. Another issue for him to deal with now that Mishima has momentarily passed the torch of ‘Phan-site checker’. He closes out of Ryuji’s log and checks Futaba’s, preparing himself for equally bad news.

 **FUTABA [15:09].** Hey, doesn’t the name Oda sound familiar to you?

 _...Familiar_? More importantly... 

 **AKIRA [15:16].** How’d you know the name of our next target?

 **FUTABA [15:17].** Took a peek at your messages. Should probably remove that from your phone, huh?

 **FUTABA [15:18].** I knew you were gonna meet with Nishima today, so decided to look at his little website.but this guy’s name is everywhere. It’s almost as bad as when

 **FUTABA [15:19].** well, you know.

 **AKIRA [15:20].** Okumura.

 **FUTABA [15:21].** Wow, didn’t know you were playing in Merciless mode. Anyway, I’m gonna send this to the others.

 **AKIRA [15:22].** Thanks.

He stuffs his phone away and feels it vibrate again, but he does not check. There is one more place he needs to stop.

The pale mist sweeps across the concrete floor eerily, dark blue door waiting patiently for its guest.

Akira inhales shakily as he walks away from the door only he can see. His heart is relieved, but his mind yells at him to turn back. Don’t go. Don’t leave.

* * *

“Haru?”

She turns at the sound of her name. Makoto doesn’t look up from her phone, but Haru can see that concentrated look on her face again. She scoots closer, glimpses the background of the Phan-site, and can’t help but sigh. Even on their ‘recovery days’ they couldn’t escape the duties of a Phantom Thief. She never thought Noir would grow disdainful of people’s requests just as Haru was, at first, unable to handle the stress of Okumura Foods. 

Makoto freezes. “You’re right. Sorry.” and she goes to put her phone away.

“No, no, it’s alright, Mako-chan.” Haru says, placing her hand on Makoto’s forearm. “I didn’t mean to sigh like that.”

Now, they’re in the backroom of one of those model shoots waiting on Ann, having bypassed security with a flimsy excuse that they didn’t need when one of them recognized Haru as Okumura’s daughter.

She would never hear the end of those ‘my condolences’ and pitying stares.

“Go on. What can I help with?”

Reluctance shows as she shows the screen to face Haru. There’s a message from Futaba with the name “Oda Eiji”. Beneath that is a description of his crimes with a screencap of the Phan-site’s forum. She skims through the text, mind picking up on the words “police” and “brutality” and “abuse”. Haru hands Makoto back her phone, unaware that she had taken it from her.

There’s an uncomfortable beating of silence before Makoto breaks it. “Do you… think there’s a connection between Oda and the people who hurt Akira?”

Haru parts her lips to answer, but she cannot speak when her thoughts cut in front of her voice. It is indeed a possibility; it would do no good to write it off as impossible. And yet, she’s reminded of the hasty decisions they took when going after her father. The public wanted the show and the Phantom Thieves delivered. They had been rewarded with cruel words and everyone assuming her father was innocent.

The same thing could happen with Oda.

Her fingers scrunch her skirt. “I don’t know,” she answers truthfully. “But why is this coming up now? I thought the police weren’t arresting criminals.”

Makoto shakes her head, glancing back at her phone. “They’re still working, but very little. Sis has noticed it too. She tells me not to overwork myself and that I shouldn’t be going to the Metaverse every day.”

“She’s right: We _have_ been doing a lot of work as the Phantom Thieves,” Distantly, she wonders how the flowers are doing on the school rooftop. She’d hurry to water them before rushing to their meeting or straight to Mementos. There’s no reason for her to be caring for a garden when the soil was packed like ice, but she does it because she can. It’s a reminder of how things were.

“Futaba’s still shaken up…” Makoto sighs. “She’s saying she can go back into Mementos, but I think she’s afraid it’ll happen again.”

They had all spawned in Leblanc except Futaba. Haru doesn’t remember what happened, but she remembers a bright light and then coming to on the attic floor. Akira was the only one who didn’t wake up. That’s when Yusuke told them what happened and that was when Futaba sent them a group message saying she was okay. Sojiro was understandably confused with the entire ordeal, but he never raised his voice at them. 

She was grateful for that. 

“Maybe we should visit her after this.” Haru pauses. “Or does she prefer to be alone right now?”

There’s a tumble of voices rising behind the adjacent door. It opens violently and Ann follows after a young woman with long brown hair and dark eyes. “Wait a second, Mika!”

She does, stopping and staring. “Ann,” voice holds an edge beneath the sweet covering. “If the rumors about Kobayashi are real, then there’s nothing we can do. Sticking your nose in is just going to make you lose this chance you’ve been given.” her eyes harden, hand on her hip. “Unlike you, I can’t afford to back out of this.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Ann protests. Her hair is untied from their twintails, whipping her cheeks when she gives a furious shake of her head. “Kobayashi is… I don’t have a good feeling about him either. Trust me, Mika, if you get cornered by a perverted guy, you’re going to get stuck doing favors in return for something else.”

“Wha…?” her face slowly twists in anger, pupils blown wide. She takes a step closer, jabbing a finger in Ann’s chest. “Are you calling me a whore?”

Ann gaps. “No!”

Haru pushes off their seat, Makoto right next to her in case this turned ugly. She places her hand on Ann’s shoulder. “Excuse me, is everything alright?” 

Shock splits Mika’s face and she reels back. “Who are you?”

“We’re here for Ann,” Makoto supplies. Haru sees how white her knuckles have become from gripping the strap of her school bag. “and we happened to witness everything. Who’s Kobayashi?”

Mika scoffs, former disgust slipping back into her words. “It’s none of your business, but I’m sure she’ll tell you anyway.” she turns on her heel, looking at them over her shoulder. “I don’t care what you do, Ann. Just stay out of my way, and let the Phantom Thieves take care of those rumors.” and she leaves through the double doors with the EXIT sign.

Ann sighs, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s dressed in pale blue, wrap-around dress, and Haru wonders if they started arguing the instant the cameras switched off. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be.” Makoto assures. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… I can’t say the same for Mika. She’s really ambitious, but she’s not one to tune out fishy rumors like that. And the Phantom Thieves…?” her face wrinkles in confusion. “She never believed in them before. I wonder what changed.”

"Who was she talking about?"

Ann shakes her head. "Just another run-of-the-mill rumor about a modeling agent who has some dirty secret floating around. But now isn't the best place to talk about him. I think I said enough to Mika."

The last question to be posted on the Phan-site had been two weeks ago. It never closed, and the views had increased twice their number. 

**Do the Phantom Thieves exist?**

Of course she did. They all did. They weren’t going to disappear again. But they didn’t need public support to keep living. “Maybe it’s because we’ve been arresting a lot of criminals.” Haru says quietly. No, that didn’t sound right. “And today, Mishima-kun sent Akira-kun a new target.”

“Already?” Ann’s eyes widen. “But we didn’t finish our last missions! And now we have Kobayashi!”

“I don’t think that’s going to matter to Akira…” Makoto mutters, bringing a hand to her chin. “He’s been the most adamant about changing hearts even when he’s ready to break down.”

There’s another break of silence.

“Yes…” Haru finds herself saying. “Mika’s not the only one who changed. The people who’ve been helping with Okumura Foods have stopped talking. They’re less diligent and unattentive.”

Yesterday, there had been an anticipated video-chat for a council meeting. She had not partaken in it, having been drawn into Mementos for the majority of the day. But her phone exploded the minute service touched base. There was talk of a cancellation, a rescheduling because someone didn’t show up, which to Haru was rather bizarre.

One missing did not warrant complete abandonment.

“This is going to sound a bit weird, but…” Ann twirls her hair around her finger, eyes glued to the floor. “Do you ever feel like you’re forgetting something important?”

“I’m… not sure what you mean.” Haru answers, but a part of her thinks she does. She knows there’s a chunk of memory absent from yesterday.

“Like,” she gestures vaguely. “After we disappeared in Shibuya, what happened? Do any of you remember?”

“We woke up in our rooms, didn’t we?” Makoto supplies weakly. She isn’t sure either.

“Yeah, but what happened to that thing in Mementos? That grail?”

“The only way to find out is if we reach the depths ourselves. Though we can take that up with Joker. He may be just as confused as we are about this.”

Haru nods slowly for Makoto’s sake if not her own. She couldn’t approach Akira. She used to, but there’s a barrier between them, between Akira and the Phantom Thieves. Her patience with him had yet to run thin unlike Morgana and even Yusuke. She wonders about Makoto and Ann.

“Alright, let me get changed and we can get out of here.” Ann turns only to freeze in her tracks. “Wait, what are we doing today?”

“I need to get a replacement for my weapon,” Makoto says, staring blankly at her healed knuckles. The scars from the ooze monster seemed to have mended in the transition from the Metaverse to Shibuya. “I was thinking we could all see Futaba after.”

Oh, right! “I forgot,” Haru says suddenly. “Shouldn’t we get her something? Like a feel better gift?”

Makoto looks at her quizzically, brows pinching together. “Even though she’s not sick…?”

“Not for recovery, but just something to cheer her up a little. Even though she was scared and couldn’t see, she still managed to navigate us.”

“That sounds great!” Ann chimes in. “Yeah, let’s do that!”

“Alright, we can.” there’s still leftover astonishment at the sudden decision. It must not have been in her plans.

Haru can’t help but giggle in the face of it. “It’ll be fun, Mako-chan. We can still discuss the culprit if it would help put your mind at ease.”

“No, I’d… rather not, honestly. It’ll be nice to not think about that or my studies.” a soft smile pulls at her lips. “Let’s make the most of our time, then.”

* * *

**FUTABA [17:01].** Hey Inari

 **YUSUKE [17:05].**?

 **FUTABA [17:06].** ┌( ಠ_ಠ)┘

 **YUSUKE [17:08].** I don’t understand what that means.

 **FUTABA [17:09].** Send one back!

...and that’s how Yusuke got stuck scrolling through the various emojis in his phone. He has the leftovers from the ramen bar jammed into a small container in the other hand. For as starved as he was, he hadn’t made a dent in the bowl, much to Ryuji’s astonishment.

They’re passing time in Inokashira on one of those benches. When the sun sets, the people scatter back home leaving an empty park with only the sounds of the seasonal breeze. The wind whistles past his ears and spins among the leaves and branches of the trees. A few feet down the road would be a stump of bone protruding from dirt and stone and frost.

“Kinda weird being here after yesterday…” Ryuji mumbles. “Why’d we come here again?”

“I don’t want to return to the dorms.” Yusuke answers, selecting an emoji at random and sending it to Futaba. He places his phone next to his thigh.

“Aaaand you take us to the park with Mementos’ boner poking out of the ground because… why?”

Yusuke frowns in disapproval. “Not the most eloquent way to put it.” He places the food container off to the side, giving up in trying to keep it lukewarm with his hands.

“Yeah, but…” he breaks off with a sigh. “Never mind. Are you at least feeling better?”

 _Better_ was… the best way he could put it. There’s no way he can so easily shake off the words and hurt from yesterday that clung stubbornly to him. He isn’t _well_ or _okay_ , but he is better. Akira’s half-apology that morning only scratched at the wound; Ryuji’s little outing to the ramen bar had smacked a band-aid on it. No disinfectant or special remedies. Just something to cover it.

Until Akira picked at it again.

“It was fun,” he says, and he tries to give a small smile. “Thank you, Ryuji. Your generosity will not go unpaid.”

Ryuji chuckles sheepishly. “Hey, we’re friends, ain’t we? No need to get all sappy and shit.” but then his grin dissolves. “You didn’t speak a whole lot at the restaurant. Are you ready to talk now? I mean, you don’t gotta or anything…”

“You’ll listen…?” Yusuke doesn’t mean to sound alarmed. He certainly doesn’t know why Ryuji flares in response.

“Cut me some slack. I’m not good at this, talking-thing. ‘Sides, I know you prefer Akira. If things were reversed, I would too. He always knows what to say without offending anyone…” he leans forward on his elbows, leg bouncing. “Or at least he _used_ to.”

Yusuke does not nod in agreement, less act as if he heard. He scrapes the ball of his foot against the ground. They had yet to see any snow, but he can already picture Inokashira dotted with patches of white frost. It would be nice to draw or paint had he the motivation and energy.

Not that there was anything worth drawing at this point in time.

“So what else happened when we got separated? You got stuck with Joker, but you guys were completely out of it when we woke up.”

Yusuke tilts his head to the side. Hadn’t he told everyone yesterday? “We were ambushed by those Shadows. There was a very powerful one...” ( _the lilac-colored mask, the limbs, the way it held him above the ground and tossing him like a ragdoll)_ “If it hadn’t been for Joker, I may not have made it out alive.”

“Shit…” Ryuji whispers.

“He saved me.” ( _again_ ) “But it was unnerving.”

“Unnerving? What, did he torture it or something?”

Joker’s rage had been almost _tangible_ , and the way he looked at Saklas… Yusuke hopes he never looks at him, at _any_ of their friends, that way. He nearly lost his life to a relentless monster and Joker only fueled the fires of his fear. Joker. His leader. His friend.

But perhaps that made Yusuke all the more foolish.

Despite the sudden carelessness and the strategic words that Akira used to cut him, Yusuke had no intention of abandoning their leader. He could pull the rope to his side as much as he wanted in this mental tug-of-war, but never dragging Akira closer.

“I am still grateful for him and the rest of you,” he says, unsure if Ryuji is listening. “You all saved my life once and now Joker has done it again. I hope I can make up for dragging everyone into my troubles.”

Ryuji’s palm slaps him between his shoulder blades and Yusuke lurches forward. “Whoops, sorry,” he says quickly when Yusuke shoots him a look. “You’re not any trouble, dude. What’s with you all of a sudden? You were never this hard on yourself before.”

His phone vibrates and he sees a notification from the Phantom Thief group chat. Yusuke catches a name, but he doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want to go into the Metaverse at this hour.

“Ah, man, it’s late…” Ryuji pulls away and types into his phone. “We should start heading back.” he roots in his pocket before taking Yusuke’s hand and dropping 200 yen in his palm. “For the train since you spent it all on the katana. Akira usually lends you money, but since he’s not here, guess it falls to me.”

How embarrassing… but he can’t fight the smile. “You have my gratitude.”

Ryuji doesn’t ask him anymore about yesterday on their walk back to the station. He does promise to bring the katana with him the next time they go to Mementos since Yusuke only had enough money for a one-way trip. For a while, he talks about mundane things such as food or sports, but he too bumps into a roadblock.

They’re about to split up for the night and take the respective train lines when Ryuji says it.

“Yusuke,” and it’s still odd for him to see Ryuji so serious. “You should talk to Akira when you’re ready. I know him; he’ll listen even if he is moody. And he really does like you- I mean. Not like _that_ , more like- anyway, he’ll hear you out.”

A task easier said than done, but Yusuke nods. “I understand.”

He turns before Ryuji can start up the steps to the Ginza line.

 **FUTABA [17:13].** Geez, it took you 4 minutes to find one?

Yusuke’s thumb hovers over his response before he deletes it. He knows Futaba means no harm, but he doesn’t want her to know he’s “online”. Not while he was like this. She didn’t have to see (or… read) him now; she could wait like everyone else. Normally, when his mood plummeted, he’d find a good listener and comfort in Akira. For today, he found that in Ryuji.

He backs out of Futaba’s log, scrolling through the archive of Phantom Thief group chat icons and topic headlines before finding Akira’s buried beneath Ryuji’s, another one of Futaba’s, and even Makoto.

Swallowing, he taps the screen.

**January 2, 20XX**

**YUSUKE [10:01].** They have a special exhibit in Ueno. I was wondering if you were interested since you seemed to enjoy the one from last month.

 **AKIRA [10:02].** Sounds interesting.

 **AKIRA [10:03].** What day?

They never made it out to the museum.

Changing hearts came first. They were the top priority. But Akira never berated him for it or held it over his head. He apologized and promised to spend time with Yusuke on a day that had yet to come. As for the Akira _now_? Yusuke couldn’t say his reaction would have been the same.

“ _You should be focusing on the Phantom Thieves, not wasting 1500 yen to an art museum._ ” he’d probably snap.

The date on his calendar reads **January 17, 20XX**. He hardly talked to Akira one-on-one now unless they were paired in the Metaverse.

...And what had Iwai meant when he saw Akira loitering by Untouchable? More importantly, why was Akira there in the first place?

_Why didn’t he tell them?_

As he crawls into his futon that night, he wonders if it’s possible to miss someone even if they were standing right in front of you.

He wonders what they did to lose Akira’s trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in lieu of persona 5: the royal’s release in japan...
> 
> i’m not putting kasumi or takuto in this fanfic. this fanfic's outline was completed in july, and the idea came to me in march of this year (2019). you do not have to worry about spoilers for royal and that despite whatever that game adds on, i will not be altering my fanfic. this is my take on the p5 bad end, not p5r bad end.


	5. the panic; it consumes

She wonders what sort of cruel trick the gods were playing on her.

A person hustles by her, sneezing into his sleeve and muttering something about the weather before jamming his hands back into his pockets. His feet clap loudly in the empty alleyway as he departs. She watches him as the snow spins and dances to the ground, landing on her without really sticking. It is impossible for her to feel the cold, but the Velvet Room is always freezing.

The Grimoire sits tucked under her arm. She could tap into its powers now if she felt the need, reach into the realm of the unconscious and beckon one Kurusu Akira to the night of Shibuya.

‘ _ I wonder if the trains are still running. _ ’ a thought flits through Lavenza’s mind, but she dismisses it with a sigh.

Why did it matter? Kurusu would find his way into the Velvet Room with or without public transportation. If she had to manifest in his room at his bedside, then she...

...couldn’t.

No. She can not feel the cold.

Instead, she can feel fatigue and the way it seeps into her body through her veins, pooling into her heart

( _ did she  _ have one _? could a puppet have a heart? _ )

where it slithers deeper and lower into her body.

Annoyance prods at the back of her mind, and it’s with dismay that she realizes it is not hers. Yaldabaoth is a literal thorn in her body, an implant to make sure she was following her orders and not straying too far from her path. A God can not understand the emotions of humans, but it didn’t stop him from making it  _ known  _ that He is angry.

“It is out of my control…” she says quietly to the night air. 

A second prodding, this time much harder.

Lavenza doesn’t answer as the crawl of a migraine blooms from his mental touch.

A third.

She flinches. “What will you have me do if he won’t wake?”

“... _ Return to me _ .”

It is not a suggestion. It is a command.

Lavenza nods to no one, eyes squinting at the brush of air swiping her face. “I understand.” and their mental link dissolves.

She waits. Sighs.

“You may have condemned us all, Trickster.” 

And in that moment, Lavenza  _ knows  _ she has a heart. For how could she explain the blood that pounded against her brain and the tightening in her chest?

* * *

**FUTABA [12:00].** has anyone seen morgana?

**RYUJI [12:02].** the hell

**ANN [12:02].** he’s not with Akira?

**MAKOTO [12:03].** I haven’t seen him since Mementos. Is he with you, Haru?

**HARU [12:03].** No. I don’t know either.

**FUTABA [12:04].** well he’s not at leblanc. he was here this morning but

She starts with a little yelp when Akira drops his textbook-crammed school bag onto the floor. Her fingers still over her screen, watching cautiously as he pulls out one after another without so much as acknowledging she was in the room. By the time her brain hooks back to her voice, he’s risen to his feet and is walking by her without so much of a glance.

Futaba pushes herself off the sofa, calling out to him when he reaches the peak of the stairs. “Wait! I texted everyone so they’ll be here…” Not that she had  _ asked  _ for them to come over, but they would because they all knew this entire situation has teetered into Merciless Mode. “I me- I mean don’t you want to wait?”

Damn. Her stomach was doing that weird, up-down roller coaster thing and her throat was beginning to collapse in on itself from an unexplainable surge of bundled and knobby nerves. Usually, Futaba could come to a logical explanation, but here, she can’t. Because it’s Akira. Because Akira would always look at her when he talked to her.

He doesn’t now.

And the quiet pokes into her skin as if she’s perched atop pins and needles.

She hates silence. It waits and watches with judging, invisible eyes, waiting to lunge like a cornered animal.

“We don’t have time.”

Futaba can only watch in dumb shock as he leaves her alone in the empty void of the attic. She hears Sojiro express confusion where she could not, and though she’s not in the room, she can hear the onset of sanded-down patience. Rarely was Futaba on the receiving end of a scolding, but she’s come to recognize the signs of a brewing storm in Sojiro’s carefully placed words and tone of voice.

The floorboards creak softly under her weight as she tiptoes downstairs. She pokes her head around the corner just in time to see the door close and Akira pass by the glass window.

Sojiro curses under his breath, backpedaling an apology when a customer at the bar looks at him quizzically. “Don’t mind him. He’s got a lot on his plate.” he catches sight of her before she can retreat back upstairs. “You going too?”

_ Waiting!  _ she tries to say, but can only manage a muffled noise with a firm shake of her head. Her answer sits in her throat, trapped by a dam she doesn’t have enough mental energy to break. She stands there awkwardly, Sojiro’s eyes on her and now his customer, and oh God, there’s another one looking over her shoulder from the booth by the entrance with her friend. Disapproval lines their faces, and one speaks in a hushed voice, dragging back her friend’s attention and now they were gossiping.

Sojiro’s brows furrow and his lips move, but the white noise of panic overrides him. It is not with purpose does he activate her Run Away skill and she doesn't realize until she feels the softness of Akira’s mattress beneath her body.

It’s the scent of coffee and the smell of  _ Akira  _ that surges up her nostrils as she presses her face against the sheets, her glasses biting into her face.

She doesn’t feel safe. Assured.

But she doesn’t know where else to go. Where to move. Everything in the upper floor of Leblanc is Akira.

A minute later and her phone vibrates against her thigh. The screen lights up with two notifications: the group chat, and Sojiro.

**SOJIRO [12:19].** Why don’t we head on back? I’ll close up early today.

**FUTABA [12:19].** no texting on the job （￣Ω￣） 

She pauses.

**FUTABA [12:20].** if i can’t use my phone on the clock you cant either!!!! im fine. dont worry.

Sojiro doesn’t respond immediately, but he never was a fast texter. His response pops up while she’s scrolling through the backlog of the Mona Panic. She doesn’t answer.

**AKIRA [12:22].** I’m checking Mementos.

And the messages explode.

**RYUJI [12:22].** dude

**MAKOTO [12:22].** That’s dangerous, Akira. What if

**RYUJI [12:23].** wait

**MAKOTO [12:23].** those Shadows are still there? You can’t fight them alone.

**ANN [12:24].** They’re right you know. don’t be so reckless.

**HARU [12:24].** Akira-kun, I’m worried about you.

She taps away at her response—

— **FUTABA.** navigate—

—but it hardly makes sense and she has no idea where she was going. She watches uselessly as the texts stack one on top of another, digital inked texts shouting in disbelief to outrage to everything in between ( **RYUJI:** wtf did he already go in? he aint answern) ( **MAKOTO:** Let’s meet in Shibuya.).

Here her friends sat in the palm of her hand, but she couldn’t feel farther away from them if she tried. Haru sends a text, then Ryuji, then Ann. Futaba’s mind drifts and she can’t absorb the words as quickly as they come. There’s something off from Akira’s unnaturally rash decision-making to Morgana’s disappearance, and...

It hits her like a freight train.

**FUTABA [12:27].** Where’s Inari?

* * *

“Well, I  _ was  _ going to the Metaverse,” Morgana grumbles. When Yusuke doesn’t so much as flinch, he continues. “Just to scout ahead.”

“But the layout of Mementos changes each time we go in—”

“I know that. I was the one who told you. Remember?” he huffs, leaping down from the shelf propping up the ticket machines. Why couldn’t it have been Ryuji or Haru instead? He’d much prefer straightforward answers than playing 20 Questions with a teammate who was too observant for his own good. Maybe Morgana should start picking up ‘people-watching’ too… “What are you doing here? It’s Friday and you should be in school, not loitering in the same spot you’re always in.”

Yusuke frowns. “Friday was two days ago.”

His heart skips a beat. Did he really miss two days? And then the ground is leaving his feet as Yusuke picks him up from under his arms. The shriek he lets out is an undignified noise he’s glad Lady Ann doesn’t have to hear. “Hey! Put me down, Yusuke!” he protests as he’s lowered into the opened mouth of Yusuke’s bag. Morgana always thought it belonged to an office worker instead of a high school student.

..at least it had a lot of wriggle-room.

The zipper slides shut, open just enough for him to poke his head out should he choose to do so.

“Where are we going?”

Yusuke doesn’t answer.

Morgana groans, buries his head against something hard (a sketchpad, he’ll later find out) and jostles another thing (which, he’ll later find out, was a collection of different types of drawing pencils and pens) with his feet as he stretches.

He walked differently than Akira. Yusuke’s steps were smoother with a white-knuckled grip on the strap. Morgana didn’t dislike it, and it made a great canopy where he could lay down without one end dipping because of his weight.

When the noise of Shibuya grows quieter, he decides to look around. Yusuke had taken them to an abandoned section of the train station, ducking under bright DO NOT CROSS tape. The red and black ripples of the Metaverse break along the gray walls, like a stone dropped in water. Yusuke lowers Morgana, jerking back the zipper wide enough for him to jump out.

His body grew and expanded, swelling and molding from Morgana to Mona.

Breathing in the air of the Mementos used to fill him with an odd sense of calm, a reassurance that he was in the right place despite being littered with dangerous Shadows. Somewhere in its cognitive depths was the key to unlocking his true form. Mona knew he was a human; how else would he know so much about the people? He failed to regress to the human body in the Metaverse, but at least he didn’t have to crawl around on all fours, and the cat comments were kept to a minimum. Sometimes.

For some reason, Mona hadn’t thought of his returning to a human. He hadn’t since that day...

...what day?

“Is this what you wanted?” Fox asks, red glinting off his white kitsune mask. 

Mona blinks up at him. “Yeah. I didn’t know this is where you were going.”

“I had no intention to. I came here so you could talk.” he pauses. “You don’t normally stray from Joker’s side.”

Cutting straight to the point, huh? Well, Mona thinks, it wouldn’t be Fox if he didn’t. His shoulders drop with a sigh. “This isn’t something I want him to see. I gotta make my own road to recovery.” Mona mumbles. Even as the answer flees his mouth, he can’t deny the emptiness, the yawning void that screamed something inside him was missing. He wishes he could dig his hand into his chest, grope for whatever shook out of place and jam it back.

( _ if it was even there _ )

“I must admit: I’m curious how you snuck by without drawing attention.”

Mona scoffs. “Don’t underestimate me just cause I’m a cat in your world.” he backpedals viciously. “Which I’m  _ not _ . I’m not a cat. It was just a… metaphor. Like cat burglar.”

“That’s not a—”

He knows that. “I know that.” he turns, stares at the row of gate scanners crusted with Mementos’ black veins, once-gray surfaces tinted with red splotches. Mementos is different in not just atmosphere, but looks too. It was changing faster than the Phantom Thieves could adapt. Faster than  _ he  _ could adapt. “You see it too, right?”

Fox steps closer, eyes careful behind his mask as they skate over the gates to the start of the railroad tracks. “The color has grown richer…”

“...The color?” Mona can hear the incredulity in his own voice. “I guess, but is that all?”

“Let me finish.” Fox cuts him off. “We liken red to heated emotions such as anger or frustration. In this scenario, Mementos doesn’t feel angry despite the ascending threat levels of the Shadows and our targets.” he folds his arms, frowning at the black web plastered to one of the gates. “The saturation and the black film reminds me of an illness. It is an irritated shade of red that I would think of seeing if you peered down someone’s throat.”

Mona opens his mouth, following Fox’s gaze before he allows himself to speak. “Are you saying Mementos could be sick?”

“It is a theory, yes,” Fox mumbles, not so sure himself. “Didn’t the weather have an effect on Mementos before as well?”

His mind stretches back to the flu seasons, the rainy weather, and finally heatstroke. Shadows would arrive in battle ablaze or too swamped in despair to attack. But, “Winter shouldn’t be changing it like that, and there haven’t been any snow storms.” a sigh. “It could be a possibility… This place hasn’t been the same for a while now, and it could explain the new Shadows that attacked us.”

Silence beats along with their slowly-hastening pulses.

Mona is at a standpoint. If Fox’s theory was true, then what would happen to the targets they couldn’t save? Would they turn into those monsters that nearly killed their entire team?

“Answer me this, Mona.” Fox finally says. Mona looks. “Has Mementos ever collapsed on you before?”

Bits and pieces of Mementos’ broken floor could be seen in the rooms where they confronted their targets, but the floor never separated them the way it had. Not when it was just him, Akira, Ryuji, and Ann. Not when he was alone. He shakes his head. “Never.”

Mona starts at the hand that taps his head. He swats at it comically, facing Fox with a defiant glare. “Cut that out!”

“I was about to suggest we leave.” Fox says. “It would be better if the rest of our team were with us. We’re no match for these Shadows on our own, and you had difficulty using your Persona…”

“That’s what I came here to do.” Mona interjects, settings his feet apart. He tightens every muscle in his body, closes his eyes and tries to blot out the image of Mementos and Fox as he reaches. 

His mind stretches like a rubber band, reaching for any signs of consciousness within himself. Summoning his Persona was pulling along an invisible rope. Sometimes it was met with resistance while other times it came naturally. This instance, much like the last, hitches on  _ something _ he can’t see. “Come forth, Mercurius!”

Familiar heat flares around him, vivid blue aura blaring against his closed eyelids…

...and it snaps.

The link between him and Mercurius is cut with a swift flash of a knife. It snaps back like a whip, thrashing against his brain wildly that it brings him to cradle his head in his small hands. He thinks he hears Fox call his name, but he can only manage a weak shake of his head and a grunt of pain.

It’s a drawback. A familiar one at that. He felt it when it was just him and Panther. When they needed it the most.

Only when Fox’s concerned face swims into his vision does he find the words he needs. They are not the ones he wants. But there is no running from the truth. Not when this is the third consecutive time it’s happened.

“We can…” Mona hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave Mementos yet. Maybe he could still turn into the bus.

No.

He couldn’t put Fox in danger like he had with Panther. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if it happened again.

“...abort mission.” his next answer is like coughing up needles as the words scrape agonizingly up his throat before tumbling miserably to the floor. “I can’t use my Persona.”

* * *

Akira tries to hold back the frustration from leaking into his voice only to fail horribly. “I want answers.” he says stiffly to Yaldabaoth’s neutral face, hand pinning one of the tarot cards to the desk. “I’m not looking for more power.”

“You forgot about our meeting,” Yaldabaoth says nonchalantly. “When you were meeting with the boy holding the Moon Arcana, the Velvet Room called out to you. Surely you remember this?”

He did. He didn’t want to admit it, but he did. The fog pooling from beneath the door’s lip and spilling from the cracks between the frame. It isn’t something he can easily sweep from his mind no matter how much he wanted.

Yaldabaoth knows.

“I want to know where my friends are.”

The answer he is given is not the one he wants. Yaldabaoth snaps his fingers and the tarot cards flip over. Akira recognizes them and he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to be looking at. The dark pink, black, and white color palette of the cards are unchanged, each with their name in bold letters at the bottom margin.

Akira recognizes each of his friends’ arcana, and then some of his adult acquaintances from Yoshida to Sae. He finds it easier to look at the cards than at Yaldabaoth’s face.

‘La Lune’ has a black border around an image of a man being ripped apart by wolves. Limbs hang from their jaws like caught prey that had no chance, the man’s face contorted in silent screams. In the sky hangs a sun, its rays weak and its eyes closed in sorrow. The top and bottom of the painting appear to be ripped, as if someone physically reached into the card and began tearing up the picture.

Something is horribly wrong.

“What troubles you, Trickster?”

He rips his gaze from the card to another: ‘La Roule de Fotune’. The more he stares, the more unsettling the deck appears. “Nothing.”

“I beg to differ.” Yaldabaoth does not pry, but Akira can hardly call himself thankful for it. “Now that you’re here, we should attend to business…” he places a pale, slender finger atop the wheel of fortune card. “As you know, Saklas is a powerful Persona, but you will never fully tap into his full potential unless you cooperate.”

“I can use others.”

A deep growl-like laugh rumbles in Yaldabaoth’s throat. “You are repeating yourself. As a Wildcard, you’re stronger than your allies. Trust me when I say there are enemies you will encounter that cannot be defeated without Saklas’ help. The time is approaching faster even for one such as I.” he flips the card over, sliding it closer to Akira’s side of the table. “I will ask you once more to give him what he wants. Failing to do so will only make this harder on yourself.”

He recalls the sheer agony that ripped through his body, throwing him to the floor in a fit of pain as the connection was torn out of him. He can’t forget the dull amusement in Yaldabaoth’s eyes or the pity and disappointment creasing Lavenza’s face. And after Saklas failed to listen to his commands, after being tossed by those Shadows, Akira can’t bring himself to pick up the card. He stares and stares and stares. It sits and waits. Motionless. A card could not move on its own.

A thrust of his hand and he shoves the card back to Yaldabaoth’s carefully-aligned row. “If you won’t help me,” Akira starts slowly. “I’ll find them myself.”

He hastens to his prison cell, to the void that calls him back to the real world. 

It is Yaldabaoth’s voice that makes him pause. “If this is your final answer, will you overcome the regret that is sure to follow?”

Akira swallows, stomach dropping as he turns to look over his shoulder at Yaldabaoth. He would’ve preferred if the God of Control was glaring at him, but his face is just as devoid of emotion as it was on their first meeting. “The only regret I have is Saklas.”

The door to his cell yields beneath one solid push.

He steps out beneath the dark sky of Inokashira Park.

* * *

Morgana is understandably quiet for the duration of the train ride to Yongen-Jaya. Yusuke tried talking to him only to find out he had passed out in his bag. Curled up the way he is, Yusuke has a desire to draw him, but that would involve pulling the sketchbook out from under his body, and cats were light sleepers… he thinks.

His phone is still out of battery from last night, leaving him without a way to contact his friends and assure them Morgana was safe. He prepares himself for the disbelief in Futaba’s voice (“How does someone forget to charge their phone, Inari?!”) when she finds out. For once, he wishes Futaba would lecture him. Everything about everyone changed from their frequent dips into Mementos. They hardly contacted one another unless it was to discuss the next shady adult or whoever Mishima Yuki directed them to.

The afternoon sun and blue sky is misleading to the cold winds that swirl around him as he wanders through the backstreets of Yongen. It reminds him of a composition he should be working on, but each time he raised his brush, his mind would draw blanks in his head to mimic the white canvas sitting patiently on the easel.

Not being able to draw was frustrating for Kitagawa Yusuke.

It pins him down, shackles clinging to his feet as he trudged back into the rut that has become his everyday life. Normally, a strong source of inspiration would unlock him, but he has none of that. Were he to close his eyes, he’d be overwhelmed by the growing horrors of the Metaverse. Were he to turn to his friends, he’d find himself saying nothing. The world did not revolve around him and his artwork. They all had their own problems stacked on top of their duty as Phantom Thieves.

So Yusuke would remain silent. Just as he had when Madarame—

_ No _ .  _ What am I thinking _ ?

This is  _ nothing  _ like Madarame.

(And yet, Akira dismisses the importance of art in exchange for a heart that needed to be stolen right  _ now _ .)

Sojiro looks up at him in astonishment from behind the counter. “Well, this is unexpected,” he muses, and Yusuke notices how empty Leblanc is. “If you’re looking for Akira, he rushed off someplace looking for Morgana. I decided to close up early to help you all look.”

“There’s no need.” Yusuke says, slinging his bag onto the booth seat. Morgana blinks tiredly from the sudden movement (“Whu? What is it...?”) and stretches, jaws prying open in a large yawn. “He was in Shibuya.”

“Where-?” Sojiro gawks. “Shibuya? How did he manage to get there?” and then he scoffs, scratching the back of his head. “Right: he’s special. I guess a talking cat would also have other abilities too.”

Yusuke’s not sure what skills a talking-cat possessed in the real world, but he waits patiently for Morgana to clamber out of his bag, crunching loose paper when he springs to the floor, padding towards the stairs. “I could,” (yawn) “go for a little nap. Can you hold down the fort?”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I need to find Akira, but Boss can look after you until then.” his gaze pulls to Sojiro once more. “Did he mention where he would be?”

Morgana groans. “He wandered off  _ again _ , huh? Guess I’ll tag along after all.”

“No,” Yusuke shakes his head at him. “I can handle this.”

“You know…” Sojiro interrupts carefully. “I still can’t understand what he’s saying. Whatever he’s planning on doing, let him stay here. Futaba mentioned he’s been behaving a little weird. I’m no animal expert, but let me take a look at him. He’s probably tired from being lugged around everywhere.” his eyebrows knit together, but Yusuke can’t sense any hostility. “You’re worse for wear too; all of you are.”

“We do what needs to be done.” he finds himself answering. Even Morgana looks at him suspiciously. Had he said the wrong thing? 

Sometimes, Sojiro could be as stubborn as a mule. Or so Futaba liked to say. Or maybe it was stubborn as one of those video game ‘NPCs’. This time, Sojiro is none of those things, and Yusuke wonders if  _ he’s  _ tired as well but for many different reasons. A parent would worry about his child. “Futaba left for Shibuya. She didn’t say where, but it sounds like you missed each other. Just let her know you’re on the way, unless you’d rather stay here. You’re more than welcome to.”

Morgana’s ears droop as he winces. “I was hoping I’d be home before the search party was sent out.”

Yusuke dips his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you for your help, but I will meet with them.” he pauses. “Though I won’t deny a bowl of curry when we return. I have money with me.” ( _ this time _ )

“I told you before: You don’t need to pay.” Sojiro mumbles.

Warmth blooms in Yusuke’s chest. “You’re too generous.”

“Sure,” he waves his hand dismissively. “Now get going.”

“And could you tell them I’m sorry?” Morgana chips in. “I… I don’t want you to tell them what happened in Mementos. Not yet.” 

A protest rises to his tongue, but Yusuke swallows it back down. He doesn’t want to have a disagreement with Sojiro in the room about Personas. An insecurity was difficult to share; Yusuke knew this too well. But it was not just a tiny slip the Phantom Thieves could go on ignoring. “You can tell Akira when you’re ready.” he says, but he questions the truth in his own words. If left up to Morgana, there was a chance of it bubbling into a second insecurity only for it to break the cap at the wrong choice of words.

He exits Leblanc then, bidding farewell to Sojiro and takes out his phone.

.

.

The bell to Leblanc rings immediately. Sojiro looks up.

Yusuke holds up the phone, screen black except for the giant, dead battery symbol in the middle. “I’m unable to send messages.”

It is with a sigh that Sojiro dials one Futaba Sakura.

Morgana meows.

* * *

Yusuke is preparing to take the train to Shibuya when he sees it.

At first, he thinks his eyes are deceiving him. But when he blinks, it doesn’t disappear.

A pale butterfly the size of his hand flutters by him and lays on the ground. His heart hammers loudly when someone’s foot falls atop its delicate wings, only for the butterfly to remain intact and unharmed. He knows not to make a big scene, not to be obvious when he follows its dance from Shibuya’s line to one that would lead him further out west.

He doesn’t know why nor would he be able to explain later, but the butterfly…

* * *

...nearly slips from his hand when the first drop of red dribbles on his phone screen.

Akira’s breath hitches sharply in his throat. His feet stumble back, back, back until he trips and falls onto his rear, body scraping against the frost-packed ground. Blood splatters loudly around him and on him, flecking his face and neck. Copper bursts on his lips and it fishes in each memory. Each feeling.

There are no black particles sizzling around his fingers, burning into his clothes and hands until there is nothing left.

But the blood pouring from the sky does not stop.

“ _ Beginning navigation. _ ” the MetaNav’s voice breaches his swiftly mounting panic. “ _ No candidate found. Location: Tokyo. Location: Mementos. No candidate found. No candidate found. No _ — _ ” _

His fingers jab at the power button, alternating between holding it down and mashing. The red-black eye of the navigator fills his screen and the edges of Inokashira Park flicker like static on a bad channel. The people walking by step through him, clothes and skin and hair streaked with drops of bloody rain. They are unmindful, uncaring as they talk idly on their own phones or swing whatever shopping bag adorning their wrist or burying their noses in their scarf before tearing down the road.

_ Why?  _ his mind screeches.  _ I thought this wouldn’t happen again…!” _

It’s the sky that gives him the answers.

Miles and miles on end the blue and white stretches only to cut off abruptly in bursts of velvet red stained with dark clouds. They hover over Inokashira, stretching yet minding their place at some invisible cut-off he can’t see. A spark of relief (hope?) twinges inside him, that maybe this was just a part of the Metaverse that needed fixing... 

The MetaNav blinks on his screen and freezes. A popup window appears at the bottom

(Location: Inokashira. Location: Mementos.)

and it only feeds into his confusion more.

He stands, grimacing at the wet splotches on his outfit from the blood, and stares back at the eye as if it would tell him all the answers.

“Akira?”

Yusuke’s voice reaches his ears and Akira has to make sure he’s not seeing things. He stands using his bag over his head like a makeshift umbrella. His eyes are alight with confusion and fear, and Akira moves, pulling him off the road and to one of the trees sprouting around Inokashira’s red-tinted lake. It’s a weak shelter, but the people don’t stare and they’re in no rush to hide from the abnormal precipitation.

“What are you doing here?” Akira asks, eyes trained on their surroundings. When Yusuke doesn’t answer, he turns. His hands quiver violently before he pulls them into fists. Akira wants to hold them, grasp Yusuke’s shoulders,  _ something _ … but he does no such thing. Not when they had little time to act.

“I followed something,” and Akira can see Yusuke’s phone from where it’s crammed in his grasp. “and the Metaverse app activated despite the dead battery.”

‘Something’ is not clear. “Did you see what it was?”

“A butterfly,” he answers quickly. “They don’t normally live in winter, but no one else could see it. I was en route to Shibuya when it brought me here.”

Akira frowns, but he’s more confused than irritated. “A butterfly...?”

Yusuke looks ready to respond, and by the look in his eyes, Akira can tell it wasn’t pleasant, but then he’s looking  _ beyond  _ him, not  _ at  _ him. He searches for whatever captured his attention, finding it in the form of a white-colored object protruding from the ground. A bright, violent glow emits around its body. He knows it’s not a flower root; Haru dashed away any chance of normalcy with a quick observation.

Dark liquid spreads beneath its body.

“That looks familiar,” Yusuke muses dryly.

_ And suspicious _ . Akira’s feet lead him back out into the bloody rain.

Bone. It’s made of bone, he tells himself. He doesn’t know why he does. In it’s own way, it was a small comfort that something abnormal that he could  _ touch  _ might fix the dilemma spilling over Inokashira. He had to cut away at it before it spread its influence and intoxicated the entirety of Tokyo.

He tests it with his foot, stubbing his toe on the bone that’s practically hardened to  _ diamond _ .  Squinting against the light, he reaches down, groping for a sturdy grip before he tugs.

“Akira.” Yusuke’s voice calls from above him, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. He yanks, reaches with his other hand, pulls harder. “Something’s wrong.”

_ Clearly. _ he thinks bitterly.  _ It’s this.  _ This  _ is the problem. _

The MetaNav speaks clearly. “ _ Target found. _ ”

Yusuke’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder, pulling him back with enough force that it stings all the way down his arm. Anger morphs into a protest on his tongue as he goes to shove Yusuke off, but it gets caught when the root bursts from the ground, stretching where he was crouched mere seconds ago before Yusuke threw him back. Blood and dirt spit in their face as the arch of bone stretches and grows to touch the sky, the broken  earth growling and gurgling in discomfort as they’re ripped from one another.

They retreat for the sidewalk and the app blares in a cold voice. “ _ Location: Mementos. You have arrived. _ ”

“Mementos…?” Yusuke echoes quietly.

A tremor rumbles beneath their feet, ricocheting and breaking apart the river, shaking the trees.

Suddenly, he and Yusuke are the only ones in the vicinity.

‘ **I welcome you to a new layer of Mementos** …’ Akira shivers as Yaldabaoth’s voice weaves in and out of his mind. ‘ **You have 5 minutes unless you wish to be consumed by its transformation.** ’

He reaches for Yusuke’s wrist. “This way!”

The world splits.

Inokashira’s river yells over the breaking land, sloshing over the rim of the sidewalk. Ebony pillars of bone erupt around them one-by-one. Chunks of earth cough into the air, spraying his face when one breaks the ground mere feet away from him. Blood sloshes beneath his feet as he steers them away, away, away from the growing ribcage of Mementos, vibrations humming against the soles of his shoes.

“Akira—“

Yusuke shoves hard against his back. Their grip breaks and he’s stumbling, catching himself on knees and palms that crash and send him skidding along the blood-soaked dirt. The wind is rushed out of him and he inhales so hard that it rips down his throat.

Their eyes meet and for a while everything stops as soon as it started.

For a brief second, Akira is afraid he’s being pulled into the Velvet Room, leaving behind a world that desperately needed salvation away from a mad God.

But then Yusuke is calling to him. “Are you hurt?”

Akira blinks and he isn’t given enough time to move before the earth opens its jaws beneath Yusuke’s feet.

His name tears out of Akira’s lips, syncing with Yusuke’s exclaim, and he rushes forward, ignores the burning, stinging in his knees and torso as he slides atop peeking bone and dirt. When he gazes into the empty abyss, relief quickly washes over him when he sees Yusuke caught himself on a large chip of bone hanging from the wall of split earth.

“Grab hold!”

Yusuke doesn’t keep him waiting, and Akira’s body lurches with the added weight as the ledge Yusuke was using breaks way. Their hands slap together and he reels in with both hands, elbows spiking into the breaking ground. It is then he feels the earth pillowed beneath his body eroding faster than his mind can catch up. He lets go with one hand, scrabbling for a grip on the dissolving earth and only succeeded in clogging his fingernails with dirt.

He chokes out a noise of surprise, feels himself dip.

_ We’re going to die _ .

What a pathetic end.

“ _ Gotcha _ !” 

There’s a sudden force pulling back on his feet and legs, someone ( _ no.  _ he thinks  _ there’s more than one person _ ) catching him before everything else breaks and they’re carefully reaching for Yusuke too, minding the crinkling, unsteady foothold.

Makoto’s suddenly hoisting him off the ground. “Let’s go!  _ Now _ !”

He catches sight of Ann leading Futaba with her, Ryuji and Haru hurrying Yusuke to his feet as the sinkhole expands. A curse explodes out of Ryuji as the edge nearly pulls him towards the abyss, as if angry they took away its meal of two people.

“We’re right behind you!” Makoto (he thinks) shouts, and he can only nod, racing through the spires of bone that break and twist around them faster and faster, trying futilely to bring them into whatever hell awaited below.

Futaba jabs at her screen. “We’re almost out!” she screams, words bouncing as she sprints. She points shakily at the entrance to the park. “The barrier cuts off there!”

He goes to respond, but his lungs are already screaming that if he so much as speaks while they’re trying to catch air, he’d drop on the spot. There’s a stitch in his side and he’s never run this hard since escaping Kamoshida’s Palace. A look back over his shoulder reveals an angry jagged break in the ground racing after them, an archway of bones curving towards one another.  _ Ribs _ , he had thought earlier.  _ They were ribs _ .

“Look out!” he screams, and they look back only to throw themselves to the side and into blood and dirt and grass when the mock-earthquake is cut off by another bone pillar erecting from whatever lay beneath them.

Akira tugs Ryuji to his feet, pushing at his back to get him to  _ run _ to the entrance gate.

Futaba and Ann are the first to cross followed by Makoto and Haru. “Hurry!” Ann calls, and she throws out her arm for one of them to grab.

He doesn’t see  _ who  _ grabs for Ann, but it isn’t until both Ryuji and Yusuke cross when the agony starts again. It burns his chest, rips up his throat, and he falls to his knees with a cry. His vision swims, pulses with his erratic heartbeat, and above the internal agony, he can hear his friends screaming for him

(“Get up, Akira!”

“I’m coming—”

“You  _ can’t  _ go back in, Ryuji! It won’t—”

“— _ Dammit _ !”)

and familiar blue and white dance around him in flames. Something is being tugged from his body and his teeth dig into his lip as the Persona’s name flits through his brain. 

Bright, white energy bursts from Saklas’ hand, a force that pushes back the merging of Mementos and Inokashira.

Time on his end stops.

Earth pieces suspended in midair, bone not fully grown from their dirt gums protrude like newborn teeth, and the blood rain freezes.

“What the  _ shit... _ ?!” Ryuji is the first to break the silence. “How the ‘eff can you use your Persona?”

Akira looks from Saklas’ immobile body to his team’s gawking faces. He struggles for the answer.

“ _ I….am…”  _ It speaks in his favor. “... _ the savior of our worlds _ .”

“The savior…?” confusion finds his voice before rationality can.

“ _ And you… _ ” Saklas’ diamond fingers find purchase on his shoulder, cutting into both fabric and flesh. “ _...are my key. _ ”

He barely has time to register the words before he’s being pulled back. Saklas falls, and he follows. The last thing he sees over the rim of the new sinkhole is the dread swallowing their faces. 

Akira doesn’t know who screams first:

His friends, or himself.


	6. intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 7 will be up later. unfortunately, i had to comb through some story inconsistencies of chapter 7 since it was written much earlier than the others, so it's going to be delayed and that means i was unable to do the double update.
> 
> thank you very much for all the feedback on this story! i'm sorry i haven't responded to them, but it really does encourage me so it is deeply appreciated. i hope this makes up for my lack of responses.

His throat is hoarse from earlier.

That is good though, because he’s feeling  _ something _ , right?

Even if it hurts. Even if it made him want to down a bottle of water or a spoonful of honey. It reminds him that he’s still alive. That he can’t rewind what the everliving  _ hell  _ just happened, but he can still move forward…

...He can also realize how utterly stupid that sounds the more he tries to mumble it aloud.

Ryuji chews on his thumbnail, a bad habit he thought he’s all but dropped since freshman year. His heart thuds against his ribs that he  _ swears  _ he can hear it reverberating into his ears. 

In short: He’s pissed.

He’s pissed at the helplessness that struck him when the barrier nipped his fingertips, when that monstrous Persona dragged Akira into the abyss, the palpable panic that surged from Ann to Makoto to Haru… working its way down the line until he knew, in that moment, that it was too late.

The stool grunts loudly as he scoots it back, slamming his hands down against the bar as his voice explodes out of him.

“This is bullshit. Complete ‘effin  _ bullshit _ !” his voice catches on the last word and his teeth jam into his lower lip as if to clamp down on the tail end of his curse.

He turns to his friends, some looking up, the others staring despondently at something only they could see. “We’re not just gonna sit around here and do nothing while Akira’s missing, are we?”

Makoto averts her gaze. “I understand you’re upset, but getting worked up isn’t going to solve anything.”

She’s scared too. He recognizes the creasing of her eyes and brows whenever she was trying to focus on a difficult equation or trying to cook up a strategy with a deadline in less than a minute.

It should faze Ryuji, it should reel him in. But it does the opposite. “Neither’s sittin’ here on our asses. We can still look for him! Let’s go back to Shibuya station and—”

“ _ Enough _ , Ryuji!” Ann’s voice whips against him. Her eyes are lined with tears despite the snarl on her face. “We can’t get back into Inokashira, so...” her shoulders slack as she sighs. “...we don’t know where to start.”

“So we’re just supposed to wait until he crawls out of whatever hell he got pulled into? Wait ‘till he walks through Leblanc looking like shit?! You’re the last person I was expecting to just give up!”

_ Slam _ !

“I’m not giving up! None of us are!”

The protest, a particularly nasty one fueled by anger at their (his) helplessness prepares to spring off his tongue like a diver bouncing on a diving board. Later, he’d be relieved it never jumped into the dark pool of the atmosphere.

“Cut it out, both of you!” Makoto bellows, sending a shiver through his chest as she does so. “Just… just be quiet.  _ Please _ .”

He forces himself to take slow, deep breaths. The counting to 10 garbage never worked, and it didn’t now. He can’t bring himself to look at them, glaring at the door as if it was responsible for keeping them holed up in Leblanc.

Futaba doesn’t look up from her curled position on the booth. Morgana keeps his back turned on them as he sits on the table.

They all took it hard, but the sudden muteness they both exhibited disturbed him. He’d give an arm and a leg if it’d mean they’d take a verbal jab at him like they always did.

Makoto exhales, leaning her forehead against steepled fingers. “Let’s take things apart slowly: Mementos and Inokashira merged together. There was a barrier at the entrance. Akira…” she swallows. “...could use his Persona.”

Its giant, diamond-built body and unseeing face flits through Ryuji’s mind and he grits his teeth. “More like it summoned itself.”

“My  _ point _ is he could use it.” Makoto says sternly, pinning him with a sharp gaze. “None of us could use ours when Mementos merged, but he could. Could this be connected to his abilities as a Wildcard, Morgana?”

He gaps, pulling his gaze from the window. “I… I don’t know. It shouldn’t have. We only know he can use multiple Personas, but they are bound to him. There’s no reason it should have grown a mind of its own like that.” his ears droop. “I sensed something different about him. Now, I wonder if it was that Persona.”

Ryuji scoffs, shakes his head, but his voice is tired. “Wondering what the hell its origins are ain’t gonna do much. We all know it’s some sort of freak-sona, and that’s all we need.”

“But if it is something abnormal,” Yusuke says, having done a remarkably good job of remaining quiet during the outbursts. “then it has no business being with Akira.”

Haru nods in agreement, eyes lowered. “Does anyone know where Akira gets those Personas?”

“He usually just convinces the Shadows.” Ryuji answers almost immediately. 

“Well, yes, but sometimes he would summon a Persona we’ve never seen before.” she continues slowly, cautiously. “He always stared off into space before we went into a Palace. Don’t you think that there’s a connection between him getting Personas we’ve never seen before and the one that took him away?”

Silence slides into the cracks between them, bringing an eerie pressure that smothers them like a blanket. He likens it to the day the track team stared at him when he fucked everything up and his knuckles had been sore from punching Kamoshida. He was unable to focus on that pain before agony blistered and broke through his leg, shattering in time with the snap of his bone that cracked against his brian.

It is not a pleasant silence.

“Are you saying someone is giving him Personas?” Morgana ponders aloud.

She blinks, as if shocked someone was considering her words. “It isn’t impossible, is it? If I’m speaking nonsense, please tell me.”

The images flash through his mind’s eye like a projector speeding through slides. It’s as if he’s taking notes again in class and he didn’t finish copying the last sentence before the teacher is moving on to the next.

Blue. Velvet. Bars. A butterfly.

...His head hurts.

Something is missing, but the more he tries to think, the harder it is to grasp. The faster it dances away from his fingers.

“No, but now that you mention it…” Ann trails off.

“...he was getting real distant.” Morgana adds. “It was like he was staring off more and more, and sometimes at night, he’d disappear.”

“For a walk?”

Morgana’s tail flicks. “I don’t know. Usually I’ll wake up and he’ll be gone, or I’ll wake up and he’ll be in bed.”

“How long has this been occuring?” Yusuke chips in.

“A few weeks now.”

Irritation curls in Ryuji’s gut. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Astonishment lights Morgana’s eyes before they narrow. His hackles raise and his claws grip into the edge of the table. “You don’t think I wanted to? But he was always around. If he found out everyone knew about his sleepwalking, you think he’d open up to us?”

_ Of course not _ , Ryuji thinks, slumping back down on the stool. Didn’t look as if they were heading back out to Shibuya.

But Morgana continues. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for all of you. Maybe if I was there—”

“No one’s blamin’ you, man…” Ryuji heaves tiredly. “There was no tellin’ if you could turn into the bus or not. It was safer for you here anyway.”

“I don’t need protection.” he protests weakly. “I  _ shouldn’t  _ need protection.” There’s a heavy  _ thud  _ when he leaps to the ground. Morgana sulks quietly to the stairs.

“Where are you—”

“Give him some space, Ryuji.” Ann says. “It’s a lot to take in.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. 

Leblanc is empty without Akira, but even if they were crammed together atop the Shujin school roof it would still feel empty. Akira is their friend and leader. No matter where they may have been, something would be missing. It makes him want to leave. This isn’t the Leblanc he walked into after stealing Madarame’s heart.

The door opens and the bell sings.

Ryuji looks up almost  _ too  _ fast.

He doesn’t mean to feel disappointed when Sojiro steps in.

“It’s just me.” he says gruffly.

“Sorry you had to close up shop.” Makoto says.

“Don’t apologize. This is more important than missing one business day.” at the quiet, he sighs. “I thought you could use some time alone, so I took a quick drive out to Inokashira.”

_ That  _ snags his attention. “Was he there?”

And that’s when Ryuji notices.

The light pink fabric of Sojiro’s shirt is shades darker, lines of dried rivulets draping from his shoulders and spilled onto his sleeves. His beige hat covered most of his hair, but if Ryuji were to look closer, he’d see it flecking his cheeks and specked in his beard. The more he thinks on it, the more he realizes Sojiro walked away from the midst of a crime scene.

“Sojiro…” Futaba croaks.

“Don’t worry.” Sojiro says. His fingers quake as he sets his hat down on the bar. He drags a hand down his face. “I’m not hurt, but…” he grimaces. “Not sure what the hell you’re used to seeing, but is this normal when you do your Phantom Thief stuff?”

His mind flickers to the ignorant citizens who were unmindful of the red rain that soaked their clothes and pelted their faces. He recalls their disbelief at being turned down access to Inokashira because of some fabled, freak accident the guards came up with on the spot.

Haru gasps. “You… You can see it?”

Puzzlement creases Sojiro’s face. “It’s hard to miss. What makes you say that?”

A pause. Then, “No one else reacted.” Makoto says, her voice quiet. “They couldn’t see it or feel it.”

_ That makes no sense. _

“That makes no sense.” Ryuji mutters.

“Is it that surprising?” Yusuke counters, but there’s no malice behind his words. “Mementos becoming one with our world defies logic as well. We don’t fully understand the workings of cognition.”

Makoto speaks before Ryuji can retort. “Cognition wouldn’t cause this. It wouldn’t create a hole in the real world, and we should have been able to use our Personas.”

“Slow down, what is—” Sojiro exhales, frustrated. “What is a Persona? And cognition? Is this the same cognitive psience Wakaba talked about in her research?”

_ How much did Akira tell him _ ? “Uh… It’s a long story.”

Rain sputters against the roof, clapping loudly against the pavement outside Leblanc. It silences them and they all turn to look at the door. What was once light spilling onto the backstreets of Yongen is now an eerie, scarlet haze that clings to the air and dyes the ground.

Ryuji starts at the sound of Futaba’s phone slipping from her hands.

“What’s wrong…?”

She’s staring out the window at- no,  _ up  _ at the sky, looking beyond the blood trails that snake down the glass.

“Here too.” her voice trembles. “It’s spread here too.”

* * *

At their insistence, Sojiro lets Makoto and Ryuji return home, worried for the safety of Sae and mother respectively. Yusuke, Ann, and Haru were made to stay (“I have room at my house and one of you can use the attic here since…” he trailed off. “...I’m gonna look for him later. One more time for tonight. For now, just make yourself at home.”).

With little desire to return to Kosei’s dorms, Yusuke volunteered to stay in Leblanc. It felt wrong to be in Akira’s room when he was not there, but the idea of staying in the Sakura household struck the wrong chord in him. It was as if a part of him clung helplessly to the idea of Akira returning.

Then there was Morgana...

Morgana’s passed out on the end of Akira’s bed. He hadn’t budged when Futaba went to check on him.

Yusuke knows better than to wake him, but he says nothing as Haru strokes his fur. She was to spend the night at Sojiro’s with Ann. Her concern for Morgana made her stay longer than intended.

“Was Mona-chan like this earlier too?”

He nods, leaning forward on his thighs.

“You don’t think he’s sick, do you?”

( _ Morgana tried to hide it, but Yusuke could pick out every line in his face. _

_ “I can’t use my Persona.”) _

...It would be wrong to spill Morgana’s secret, but it is also wrong to keep their friends in the dark.

He says nothing as Haru rises from the bed. She spares Morgana a look once more. “I wish there was a way for me to help. He was there for me and it’s hard not being able to return the favor.” she pauses, looks to Yusuke apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make this about myself. We have bigger things to worry about.”

For once, Yusuke is not sure how to answer. There’s nothing to forgive.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yusuke-kun.” Haru says from the top of the stairs.

“Wait.” (She does.) “Let me walk you to their house.”

Her face pinches just slightly in confusion.

He presses further. “We can’t assume there are no threats awaiting us outside. There is strength in numbers, if something were to happen.”

“I…” her eyes slide from his face to the floor. “You’re right. If this is not too much of an issue, I would appreciate your company.”

Yusuke makes sure Leblanc’s key is jammed into his pocket before he closes the door behind them. He doesn’t clip it to his keyring. It didn’t belong there, after all, and perhaps it never would. Double checking the lock and flipping the sign, he holds the umbrella for them both.

If he thinks hard enough, he can pretend it’s clear droplets that bombard them and not blood. What he can’t do is block out the smell of copper that stings his nose with each step.

Maybe it’s his rampant imagination and he’s too caught up trying to distract his mind, but Haru seems to stick closer to him as they walk. The people in Yongen mumble dejectedly about the bad weather, whatever scream that should be locked in their throat instead comes out in clipped, impatient words.

He tries not to stare too long at the red droplets rolling down someone’s unsuspecting sleeve and into their bag of groceries.

“This is unnerving…” he mutters, more to himself than to Haru.

She nods. “I agree.”

It’s almost as ironic as it is unnerving. They were invisible without their masks. As the Phantom Thieves, they were admired by everyone as long as they provided entertainment. If the public knew they were risking their lives to fulfill their demands, would they be so quick to volunteer them to solve society’s problems?

(“Yusuke!”)

His head snaps in the direction of Haru’s urgent voice. She’s brought a hand to cover her gaping mouth, staring ahead at a girl who looks to be their age.

Her head is bowed, hands gripping her arms as she holds herself and trembles like a leaf caught on violent zephyrs. The uniform she wears belongs to Shujin, and unlike everyone else...

“Where am I…? Is… this  _ blood _ ?”

...she notices.

Haru’s the first to move, stepping out from under the umbrella and into pouring rain. It sticks in her auburn hair, bouncing into her curls and onto her shoulders. “Are you okay?” she asks gently.

The girl stiffens, but she does not look up.

Suddenly, the umbrella feels  _ very  _ heavy.

“She doesn’t appear to be hurt…” Haru muses, and Yusuke realizes she’s talking  _ to  _ him. All he does is nod, unable to pry his eyes from the girl. “I know it must be frightening for you, but we should get you out of the rain. Do you live nearby?”

A pause.

“No…”

“Oh?” Beneath the confusion lining Haru’s voice is an emotion he can’t quite pin down. Anxiousness? Doubt? ( _ or was it fear? _ ) Haru lifts a hand to her forehead, blood trickling down her hand and into the sleeve of her coat. “Well, if it would make you feel better, we can walk you to the station.”

The girl shakes her head. “No…”

It sends a chill through his heart, feeling it pound harshly against his ribs. He walks closer to Haru, her name on his lips.

“No, no, no…!”

Haru’s voice forms crumbles when the girl’s hands clamp around her throat.

“ _ Give it back! Give it back, give it back giveitback—!!” _

“ _ Haru—!” _

The umbrella falls from his grasp and he plunges his arm between them, clawing and pulling at her iron grip and ripping her free from Haru’s neck. The girl stumbles back with eyes wide, as if she’s seeing him for the first time. Her feet stumble in confusion before she crashes against the pavement.

Yusuke hears Haru cough behind him, and he takes an instinctive step back to shield her. A million thoughts and feelings zip through his mind, most confusion and most screaming, in Ryuji’s own words, ‘ _ what the ‘eff just happened _ ’ when the girl looks up at them.

His stomach drops. Haru gasps in horror.

Black ooze drips from the girl’s nose, her mouth, slipping from the whites of her eyes and dripping onto concrete. She flails on the ground, thrashing limbs and head in a fit of panic before the  _ crack _ sounds in the empty alleyway.

She stops moving.

Fear paralyzes them too. No matter how hard he searches for his voice, he can’t find it amid the sheer panic that sinks into him faster than a stone in water.

Like a marionette, the girl rises. Her limbs make horrifying  _ snapping  _ noises ( _ crick, crack _ ) as she’s pulled up by some invisible strings.

And then the Shadow crawls out of her body.

It’s the same bulbous type of creature that prowled Mementos days ago, its faceless blue mask rising from the girl’s neck. It shrieks, leaping forward on all fours and towering over them. The ground sizzles as bits of its body drip down down down.

The girl does not move.

How could she?

Yusuke shoves them out of the way just as the Shadow’s arm arcs in the air, crashing where they just stood mere seconds ago. Haru stares back at it over her shoulder.

“ _ Run _ !” his voice explodes out of him.

She clambers to her feet, and he looks for  _ something  _ to distract it.

But there is nothing in the alley aside from trash cans stuffed to the brim with black plastic bags and some unlocked bicycles left by careless owners. This is  _ not  _ the Metaverse, and he had no weapons at his disposal.

Haru’s scream is like ice that burns his skin, and he’s suddenly very aware this is how his enemies felt when he froze them with bufu magic.

The Shadow drags her, its black, claw-like hand wrapped around her ankle. Yusuke glimpses the way its touch burns through clothes and skin, and it’s all he needs to grab for one of the bikes.

It's wet and slippery, but the frustration and desire to protect surges into his arms, roots his feet firmly to the ground so he can pivot.

Soaring through the air clumsily, the bike smacks into the Shadow’s side tires first before clattering to the ground in a cacophony of clashing metal and the last notes of a now-broken bell.

Somehow, the blue mask looks offended.

Yusuke doesn’t duck fast enough to avoid the swipe from one of its other appendages. 

He exclaims when it cuts through his sleeve like paper and tears into his shoulder. The blood that tumbles from the scarlet clouds mingles with the blood that splashes free from his new wound.

Somewhere, he hears Haru yelling his name, but he’s too focused on the Shadow that peers at him, inches away from his face.

Fury practically rolls off of it. Yusuke can’t see his reflection this time, but his jaw aches from clenching his teeth so tightly. His heart thunders and roars in both pain and undiluted anger.

He hates it. He hates the Shadows. He hates how useless everything is (how useless  _ he  _ is). He hates whoever gave that Persona to Akira. He hates them for taking away his friend, his leader ( _ their light, as dim as it shone now _ ). It's so much anger biting at his heels and eating him from the inside out that it almost feels  _unnatural_

( _because it is)_

and he hasn't felt this angry since Madarame revealed the truth of the ' _Sayuri_ '...

Gunshot explodes in the alleyway, the sound ricocheting violently off the walls.

The blue shards of the mask crumble into his lap and the Shadow emits an animalistic noise that sounds like it’s dying.

It does no such thing.

Its body sinks into the ground, black ooze soaked into cement like a sponge would drink fluids.

Yusuke hurriedly brushes the remnants of its face away, disgust and leftover panic encouraging rougher swipes as he brushes at his clothes. He didn’t want any of it to touch him. Not anymore.

When he looks up to thank Haru, his mouth parts open just slightly.

Akechi Goro looks at him with nothing short of disgust.

“Is this the best the Phantom Thieves can do without their leader?”

“Akechi-kun?” Haru gasps. “You… We thought you were…!”

He lowers the gun, a moderate-sized airsoft gun colored dark with a red muzzle and red lines that streaked down its body. Yusuke remembers being at the other end of that weapon. He remembers the way one bullet nicked his cheek and bit when he wasn’t quick enough.

Akechi does not extend a hand to help him up, but Yusuke never expected him to. “You want him back, don’t you?” 

Yusuke blinks. “Akira?”

“Who else?” Akechi sneers.

Things were failing to add up, and something told him they would not be receiving those answers any time soon. “When you’ve stolen enough hearts, come find me in Inokashira. Right now, you’re all useless. You have no chance of breaking into the cognition.”

As he walks past them, the sky ripples like the first time he entered the Metaverse. Yusuke shuts his eyes tight against the vertigo and oncoming headache.

The low hum of Yongen-jaya and the gentle tapping of the rain surges into his ears.

Haru’s hand is gentle, careful to avoid the cuts from the Shadow’s attack.

“I’m fine.” Yusuke lies, but he allows Haru to help him up. Every subtle movement of his arm stings, pain tingling down to his fingertips. It reminds him of how the Shadow held Haru. “Your leg…?”

“It hurts, but I’ll be alright...” she looks past him, at the open mouth of the alleyway. “We need to tell the others about that girl and the Shadow.”

He nods, unable to shake off Akechi’s words. “Him as well.”

.

.

Morgana’s eyes are wide, tail fluffed and agitated.

“But… that doesn’t make sense!” he finally exclaims after pacing a hole into the floor. “Neither me or Futaba could sense him, and if he survived the collapse, where was he in hiding?” Morgana vigorously shakes his head. “Never mind that… He’s  _ alive _ ?!”

When they arrived at Sojiro’s house, Haru told them of what happened from the girl to Akechi. Sojiro still had not returned from his search for Akira, but Ann and Futaba listened intently. They pondered over Akechi and grew quiet at the mention of the Shadow in the real world. It wasn’t until Futaba mentioned Leblanc that Yusuke remembered Morgana had a right to know as well.

They held off on calling Ryuji and Makoto, deciding to sleep on it as best they could.

**ANN [17:44].** pt meeting tomorrow at leblanc

“What would our targets’ hearts have to do with weakening the cognition?” Yusuke mumbles, staring down at Ann's text in the group chat. 

Morgana shrugs, or as best as a cat  _ could  _ shrug. “Cognition hasn’t been normal since we went into Mementos a month ago. It’s very possible the makings of it have changed - especially since it began merging with our world again. If what Akechi says is true, then we should get back to stealing hearts tomorrow.” he stares at Yusuke’s phone. “Have you tried activating the MetaNav?”

“No,” he says. “but I have reason to believe it activated of its own accord.”

“This is bad. If Shadows are in the real world, it could be a danger to us and the people. Especially if you weren’t able to use your Persona. And if the MetaNav is taking you guys into the Metaverse without even noticing…” he shakes his head. “Damn, this doesn’t make sense.”

Yusuke lays down on the sofa, the adrenaline from earlier all but dissipated. Theories on cognition run in and out of his mind, but he is unable to come up with something logical. He didn’t fully understand cognitive psience like Futaba, as familiar as she was with her mother’s research.

Morgana looks at him from across the room. “What are you doing?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “I need to rest.”

“Then use the bed.”

He sits up, hesitant. “It’s not mine.”

“It’s more comfortable than sleeping on the couch.” Morgana stands, giving a light jerk of his head towards Akira’s pillow. “Come on, I won’t tell him. If we’re heading back to Mementos tomorrow, you’ll need to be fully rested. And stop picking at the bandage. You’re gonna upset it!”

He does. His shoulder is still sensitive and Ann’s dressing of the wound itched. She had sat him down, multitasking between bandaging  him and listening as Haru recounted what happened. At the mention of Akechi, her movements grew more rigid.

Seconds tick by before he crosses the room to the bed. He’s passed out on it before one too many times at Phantom Thief meetings. In its own way, it’s familiar, but he still feels an odd sense of unwelcome when he sits on the mattress.

A part of him knows Akira wouldn’t mind, and Morgana made it clear he didn’t either.

It smells like Akira. It makes him feel close even though he couldn’t be further away. Yet that soothing presence began to evaporate each time they dove into the Metaverse. He always looked up to Akira as a leader and a friend. That would never change. In its own way, it somehow increased when he saved him with Saklas.

At his core, he was still Akira, and it makes him feel horrible for the times he did doubt him.

“Hey…” Morgana says suddenly. “He’ll be okay. I know him and so do you. Even with that Persona, he’s still got others like Arsene. Starting tomorrow, I won’t let you guys go alone.”

“It’s not his power that I’m worried about.” Yusuke counters, laying back on Akira’s pillow.  _ Was this okay too?  _ “He’s been unable to control that Persona twice. I have a reason to worry for a potential third time.”

He tries to remember a time any of their Personas physically touched them. When Susano-o was Goemon, he spoke to him, but never once placed a hand on his shoulder. It was as if there was an unspoken rule between Personas and their users: To never touch.

Saklas did not seem to abide by this.

“In that case…” Morgana says slowly. “We’ll just have to double our efforts tomorrow. But we’ll find him. I know we will.”

Yusuke can’t find it in himself to disagree, and when his phone vibrates on the bed for a new message, he doesn’t look.

“He used to do the same thing too, you know…”

He opens his eyes.

“With the whole bandage-thing. Whenever he was nervous or maybe it was just a bad habit. After the interrogation…” Morgana hesitates before shaking his head. “Never mind. And if that really was Akechi, we should still proceed with caution.”

“If you’re so unsure, should we be meeting with him?”

“Right now, he’s the only lead we have to Akira. You know that as well.”

Morgana’s right. He did.

But Akechi had been so quick to leave them. Did he really care for Akira, or was he doing it for his own gain?

* * *

“What a letdown…” and he means it. “I expected better of you, Joker.”

Akechi Goro is not blind to the bones and blood that uproot themselves from the park’s soil. Spotted here and there are sinkholes, and he can only guess which one led Akira into the abyss.

No one is at Inokashira in the dead of night - what reason did they have? - but it’s fine; he preferred it when others weren’t around to watch his every move.

The ground trembles and he backpedals, away from the entrance gate. His Persona pushes at the back of his mind, ready at his call…

...but everything in front of him  _ flickers _ . 

For a brief few seconds, he glimpses the gray sky and the bare branches of the park. Just as quickly as they come, they vanish back into towers of marrow and scarlet colors. Akechi frowns. Black particles of dust gather at his feet and he smothers them into the dirt path.

_ Could they be stealing hearts now? Is that what caused the static in cognition_? 

Not for the first time, Akechi wonders if the Phantom Thieves are in over their head.

Their troubles were never his to begin with. He had little interest in changing that.

And yet, he found himself oddly worried.

* * *

**Q: Are the Phantom Thieves real?**

“uhhh duh”

“this questions been the same for like three weeks”

“when are you gonna update @admin?”

“people still use this site?? lmao”

“ur still usig it asshole”

“hey phantom thieves! when u stealing the next hearT?”

At some point, when Akira was helping her with her anxiety, Futaba had met one Mishima Yuuki. She never exchanged numbers with him, but it wasn’t hard tracking down his number through Akira’s phone. Their last conversation took place no more than three days ago.

And somehow, she thinks it would have been better had they not spoken at all.

Mishima’s number sits in the text message address.

**FUTABA:** hey i’m akira’s friend.

No, no, that’s too weird. Just because she could respond to texts from people she met in real life didn’t mean an NPC like Mishima could.

But the Phan-site had not been updated and the requests showed no sign of stopping.

She huffs in anger, tapping the power button on her phone before throwing herself face-first into the pillow. After smothering herself for a good few seconds, she turns her head to the side, staring back at the now active screen. She exits out of her text to Mishima, searching for her messages to Akira and the group chat.

They still had that heart to steal from someone named Oda… and then the pervy model-guy from Ann’s work… and then another person who was convicted of copying off someone’s homework. Sometimes she wondered how serious the requests were or if they were just people growing lazier and lazier to actually confront the issues themselves.

Futaba switches back to her browser, met with the Phan-site’s page.

Her mouth goes dry.

The Phan-site’s chatbox has one new message, highlighted in a light brown that contrasts with the red and white background. In bold, black text...

**Admin:** Requests are closed. Sorry guys, I need a break too.

[ _ You cannot post a message here. _ ]


	7. blank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for this chapter. if you’re okay with spoilers, you can skip to the end for the list.
> 
> For those subscribed: sorry if you got dmed twice about this chapter. I updated earlier today but it wasn’t showing up on the list. So I had to reupload.

Everything changes after that one night.

He isn't told directly, no, that would be too much work for the government.

Instead, it is over an awkward meal with his parents when the orange light of the sun slants through the blinds and sprawls itself across the table and floor. It is avoiding one another's eyes as he picks at his food. His mother's movements are calculated as she eats daintily, almost cautious. His father brings a mouthful of rice to his lips before he pauses.

The wood is beginning to peel, and he thinks back to how careful he was when sitting in this very spot. He never scratched it. He thinks.

“ Akira.”

He looks up.

“ You're aware of what happens next, right?”

'Next'? He heard the court loud and clear. Expulsion.

But what  _ did  _ happen next for a high school student?

“ There was a local school in Osaka about 45 minutes away if you can catch the train. Your mother and I wouldn't have been able to drive you every day, but you're at that age where you can start taking care of yourself,” his father pauses. Sighs. “I'm afraid they won't take a student with a criminal record either.”

His heart thunders anxiously in his chest. It was the second one. The first was a school an extra 10 minutes away by train.

“ Our next option was a school called Shujin Academy.”

“ Shujin?” Akira echoes. It sounded terrible. Not that he had any power of something as simple as a name. “Where is it?”

He thinks maybe 45 minutes, an hour tops.

Apprehension slides into his veins when his mother looks at his father warily. There is something unspoken there, as if an agreement about  _ him  _ had been made without  _ him  _ being there. They told him not to worry, but in that moment, it is all he can feel.

Finally, “It's in Tokyo.”

Something clatters and Akira doesn't register its his own chopsticks hitting the plate until the shock has semi-cleared from his mind. Coherent thoughts are chased out of him as his mind grasps uselessly for the words that won't come. He doesn't know what to say, and later he'd wonder had there been anything  _ right  _ to say in that moment?

“ It's a five hour ride, but it's the only school that agreed to take you in.” his father returns to his food, unmindful of Akira's wide eyes. “You'll be leaving two days before the start of the new semester. I've spoken with someone and they're going to reach out to their friend in Yongen-jaya. Depending on what he says, you'll be living there for your probation. If not... well, it's nothing you need to worry about.”

When their gazes meet, Akira knows what he wants. An obedient, 'yes father'. A non-argumentative, simple, 'I understand.'

He gives him neither of those. “I...” his eyes slam to the food. The heaping of fish on his plate suddenly feels like pity than it does a meal. As if his mother gave him a larger slab to convey an apology she could not say on her own.

She doesn't look at him.

“ I don't want to go.”

But then she does. “You have no choice,” she says sternly. “and you should be grateful. What was your other alternative? Were you intending on dropping out of school?”

Somehow hearing the words 'school' and 'drop-out' so close to one another in the same sentence didn't feel right. Especially from his mother. And so he shakes his head. It is out of the question and he knew it.

“ If we could have you closer to home, we would.” she continues, and maybe her face softens then, but Akira's too busy trying to calm the swirl of panic clouding all rationality. “But this is our only option.”

“ The court has no issues with Shujin either.” his father adds. “Given what happened, I'm surprised they don't feel it necessary to track you. There may still be hope.”

He didn't care what the law thought. They were the ones who condemned him to this sudden hell. They were the reason his life was slowly crumbling before his eyes, slipping through the cracks in his fingers.

“ Tokyo is five hours away...” Akira echoes his father's earlier statement.

He nods. “And you'll be leaving on Saturday in the early morning. You'll need to catch the earliest train. We're not expecting you to carry a year's worth of clothing, so we'll—”

“— A year?”

“ Probation.” and his father's voice takes on a more impatient edge. “No matter what you say, there's no changing this. You don't seem to realize how tied our hands are.”

Akira swallows dryly. ' _ Yes I do. I'm sorry.'  _ he means to say. “It wasn't my fault.” is  _ not  _ what he means to say.

“ And  _ this  _ isn't ours either.” his father counters. “Do you think we like the idea of sending you that far away with no family in the vicinity?”

He's helpless to the words that rush out of him. The ones that he's kept bottled since that night. Since the trial. Since his friends and teachers looked at him with such disgust.

“ Then don't! I'll help you look for another school. I can do research too, I can call them when I'm...”  _ not in school? _ He wasn't in school now, was he? “It wasn't my fault,  _ dad _ !”

His father may as well slap him  _ right there _ given the near-offended shock that steels his face. Akira's never called him that since he was a child. He's never called his mother 'mom'. Those were always so childish. Something he is not.

The plates and dishware clatter loudly when his father slams the tabletop.

“ It  _ is,  _ because  _ you didn't listen to us _ ! We tell you not to stick your nose into any adult business, and you go and do exactly that! Because we knew something like this would happen.” his fingers curl into a fist, trembling. Quivering. “Did you feel like a grown man when you shoved that politician? Or was it in the court room when you were facing the judge?”

Akira's chest thuds painfully, as if each accusation was like a knife aimed directly for his palpitating heart. There's the distant taste of salt gathering under his tongue and pressing against his teeth, and if he so much as sheds a tear, this conversation would be over.

Silence fills the space between them just as quickly. Akira's grateful for it. He doesn't trust his voice.

“ I'm sorry...” Fatigue stains his father's words and voice. He scrubs a hand down his face.

Akira says nothing. Their dinner blurs in his vision.  _ Shit _ . he thinks, frustrated.  _ Not now _ .

His mother returns back to the 'avoiding eye-contact' ordeal for what feels like the fifth time that night.

It's too much.

Akira rises to his feet, dips his head in a nod. “Thank you for the meal.”

It's improper and unethical.

Yet he does it anyway.

They don't stop him as he hurries to his room, unshed tears hot against his eyes.

.

..

“ _ Isn't that Kurusu?” _

“ _ Yeah. Guess he's clearing out his desk. What for? _ ”

“ _ Didn't you hear? _ ”

“ _ Who didn't? I heard he stabbed the guy. _ ”

“ _ The hell? I had to work with him last week! That coulda been me! _ ”

.

..

Something wakes him harshly, as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped on him.

He gasps for air, gulping it down greedily as he lurches up and clenches his eyes against the wave of dizziness that threatens to send him reeling on his back again. Akira's hand rushes to his chest and it is then he realizes something's different. The fabric is thin and weak, striped, white and black. He recognizes it instantly.

Nausea sloshes in his stomach at the dark colors of the Velvet Room.

But what he sits on? It's not the same plank that hung off the wall, and the bars that kept him trapped were just that: bars. Nothing special.

It's too ordinary to be  _ his  _ cell.

“ Joker?”

His head whips up at the sound of the voice. Akira springs to his feet, practically crashing into the bars as he rushes forward. “Yusuke?” Not Fox. Yusuke is still wearing that long-sleeved white shirt and the Kosei uniform pants. His fingers are cold when they touch through the bars. “What are you doing here?”

“ That's not important. Is there a way to get you out?”

His eyes slide to the lock, and had he not been stuck in the damn prison garb, maybe he could pick it himself... somehow. But as he is... “Try that. You have one on you, right?” At Yusuke's puzzled expression, he presses. “A lockpick.”

“ I don't, but perhaps someone else does.” he takes a few steps away from the bars, as if suddenly realizing just  _ what  _ Akira is wearing.

He shakes his head. “I don't know why either. When it dragged me, I...”  _ had a nightmare?  _ Is that what happened to him?

No.

Something's missing.

Yusuke frowns. “You...?”

Akira levels him with narrowed eyes. “Forget about it. We can figure it out later.” ( _ something's not right _ .) “Are the others okay?”

“ The others...” but it's less of a question and more of an observation. “I suppose they are.” and Yusuke looks at him coolly. “Though I'm sure they would be better had your actions not plucked at their memories.”

“ ...What?”

“ An unfortunate side effect for humans,” Yusuke continues stepping closer. Akira steps back. “If something so traumatic happens to you, your minds shut it down, suppressing it until you're convinced it never happened. But though you may forget, the memories are still there.” his lips twist into a smirk that hardly graced Yusuke's face. “You yourself have many of these. Unable to recall the probation. The details of your trial. My trickster, you are indeed a worthy subject after all.”

He's standing in the center of the room by the time Yusuke's finished speaking. His feet are glued to the floor, dread paralyzing his limbs to where they are just as useful as carrying around buckets of lead.

“ Who are you?” Akira demands sharply.

And Yusuke laughs. It spills up his throat and rolls off his tongue, and it reminds him of the time he laughed in their faces when they all 'accused' Madarame of abuse. “Should I be offended that you don't recognize me?” he finally says. “That is the 'human' reaction, yes?”

The wind is flung out of him when Yusuke swipes at the air with two fingers. Something holds him against the wall, pressing against him as the bars dissolve to let him in.

“ It would seem the more you are in my presence, the more I learn about you humans. You have motivations that drive you to commit brave or selfish acts. All to satiate your ego.” Not-Yusuke frowns, genuinely confused. “But do you ever commit good deeds because it is the right thing to do? Or are your emotions and desperateness for recognition always lying beneath the surface?”

Akira starts when Not-Yusuke's hand slams near his ear, caging him in. He scrutinizes him with an almost childish curiosity.

“ Emotions are not so black and white. Is that it?” he asks softly.

It's hard to look away because he  _ can't  _ look away. But why... “Why him?”

Not-Yusuke blinks.

Akira doesn't know what to say.

“ I thought this form would be to your liking.” Not-Yusuke says. His mouth pulls into a sneer. “I imagine you would be less pliant to my other body.”

And Akira glares even as he’s pinned against the wall.

The protest is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t spit it out. Seeing Yaldabaoth as Yusuke is nothing short of disgusting, wearing his face and body, speaking with his voice… It’s all a horrid nightmare that he needs to wake up from. Especially when it looks at him the way it does.

At times, he’s seen Fox grin at his enemies like that, a spark of mischievousness in his eyes and the subtle tilt of his head before cutting them down. It was obvious they all got the same thrill from fighting Shadows. But on Yusuke the way it is, when he's cornered like this, Akira can only suppress the shudder that races up his spine.

It is  _ not  _ the same feeling when he sees a Shadow at his mercy.

It’s something far worse, something that should be reserved for the real Yusuke, or a real  _ person _ .

To his disdain, He notices. Not-Yusuke’s hands are just as soft as the real one’s as they come up to cradle Akira’s face, a mocking of a lover’s caress. A God could not love. Couldn't understand love. He said so himself: Emotions weren't black and white.

This is all fake. It wasn’t even the real Yusuke. “Have you collected your reward?”

Akira blinks slowly, confusion stilling in his gut.

“ Saklas, of course.” Not-Yusuke says. “You are one step closer to tapping into his full potential.”

His head whips to the side… or it would if the faux Yusuke didn’t have his face in a death grip.

He chuckles lowly, pulls their bodies closer. “You’re such a child.” Confusion must’ve split across his face because Not-Yusuke breaks off into a laugh. But when He speaks, His voice is sickeningly soft. “Saklas shares your pain… your feelings… your thoughts. When are you going to tell the real owner of this body…” He grins wolfishly. “that you crave him to where you’ve fantasized about bringing him to bed?”

Akira’s heart hammers painfully in his chest. Though he’s fully clothed, he feels exposed and he grips his arms tightly as if to shield himself. It had Yusuke’s face, but Yaldabaoth’s stare is like a perverted touch. “Shut up!” he spits.

“ You don't have to lie to me. I've already seen what lies in your heart. Even the parts you can't bring yourself to admit.”

_ He's lying _ .

“ You're lying.”

“ Is that so? Well then maybe…” He starts slowly. “you’d like a taste.”

And Akira can only make a noise of discomfort when their lips touch. He pries his mouth open, tongue licking his teeth, sucking away his breath. Not-Yusuke’s hips touch his own, and Akira swallows down a scream of disgust when he feels Its growing arousal against his own.

He shoves, hand rushing to his lips to wipe harshly when Yaldabaoth stumbles off him. Akira falls back against the wall. He clenches himself together, scowls at the ground.

It was  _ sick _ , but the touch had been  _ far  _ worse. It hadn’t been  _ Yusuke’s  _ need against his own. No. It was that twisted  _ fuck  _ of a God. He feels the bile dip and wobble in his throat and he jams his fist against his mouth.

The voice that reaches his ears no longer belongs to Yusuke; it is Its own. “That form is still young, easily clouded by lust much like your teacher. You bring out a feeling I can’t fully fathom.” the fake Igor remarks, amusement lacing his words. “I had thought touching you would evoke an understanding, but it only brought more confusion.” he chuckles darkly. “Maybe I should bring that boy here too. There are things both you and him could show me.”

Repulsion surges upwards inside him, and he claps a hand over his mouth. He swallows the bile that stings the back of his throat. 

“You humans are very sensitive.” The bars disappear and Yaldabaoth steps outside, his back still turned to Akira when he speaks once more. “I failed to mention Saklas has made a very important decision for you, or maybe it was of your own doing. Peel back the layers of dreams, and there are things that you don’t want others to know. But they are unconscious decision and I took the liberty of relieving that burden.”

The mention of that Persona makes his stomach drop. He pushes away from the wall. “What did you do?” Akira snaps, inwardly flinching at the tremor in his voice.

A pause, and then Yaldabaoth is walking away.

“ _ Hey _ !!”

—Something wrenches him back, spinning him around.

Saklas’ face is blanks as it always is, but Akira can feel the anger and the frustration rolling off of it. The mental link he has from himself to his Personas shudders violently, tugging to break away. At its core, beneath harsh emotions, he senses something else… something he can’t decipher.

He’s shoved forward again, twisted around that he grunts in discomfort.

The exclaim tears out of him, ripping apart his throat as the sharp needles of Saklas’ fingers prick his back. A thousand injections in one simple touch.

A second shout shakes behind his teeth when his knees connect with the hard floor. He catches himself on his hands, shutting his eyes against the red of Mementos’ depths.

... _ Mementos _ ?

Black and red, black and red…

It bounces against the black bars of the cognitive prisoners and he wants to block out their wails. It drowns the room and his head pounds and yearns to go back.

_ How did I get here? _

“ Do you hear them?” Yaldabaoth’s voice floats to him and around him. It weaves in and out of his ears just as it does when he’s in the real world.

He listens.

The words babble like a stream. They mix and tumble and create a cacophony of poisonous accusations.

A destroyer of wishes…

A leader of exhausted Phantom Thieves…

( _ Leave the grail alone _

_ Don’t touch the Holy Grail) _

...Yaldabaoth’s loyal trickster.

Akira jolts at the sudden hand around his arm, wrenching him to his feet. He stumbles behind the fake Yusuke as he’s dragged to the center of the room. There’s a part of him that yearns to lash out, but not when he can feel Saklas’ faceless stare digging into his back. Without his Personas, he stood no chance.

The world somersaults as he’s thrown to the floor, stone biting into his body through the thin fabric of his prison garb. When everything aligns back into his vision, Yaldabaoth no longer wears Yusuke’s skin but an older man with dark eyes. He wears the same suit he wore when he shoved the confession under Akira’s nose. When he dug his foot into Akira’s leg. When he kicked him and beat him. When they first ‘met’ during that dreadful interrogation.

“ Are you scared, little trickster?” he cooes mockingly, and his grin is like shards of glass. “Don’t worry. This is only punishment for not answering my call.”

Shock is chased out of him when his head cracks to the side, pain stinging and stretching along his right cheek. The taste of copper bursts on his tongue and slides in the spaces between his teeth. He hears the collective gasp of the prisoners followed by their deafening silence. From where he lies, his gaze lingers on Saklas before that too is torn away.

Anger does not trace Yaldabaoth’s face and that is what frightens him the most. There’s a morbid curiosity as he digs his foot into his gut, his side, his chest.. His body screams in agony and his teeth are clenched tight from muffling shouts of pain. He glimpses his fist before it crashes into his face again and again. His lip splits, white stars splash against his eyes, and when it’s over, his chin cracks against the ground.

Yaldabaoth whispers something.

Akira swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling tremor after tremor wrack his body. A lump clogs his throat, but he refuses to let any tears fall. Not for this false God. Not in pain.

“ Do you hear them?” Yaldabaoth repeats his question from earlier.

He does.

He hears the rising curiosity and sickening entertainment in the voices of the masses. Their shadowed bodies cling to the bars desperately, jeering at him, cheering for the God who holds onto their free will. They sought entertainment through the Phantom Thieves, and now they were consuming this little show.

“ To them, your life is nothing but a play,” Yaldabaoth continues. “These are the people you sacrificed for the Phantom Thieves. This is what lies in the heart of man. You are nothing but a puppet playing his role.”

A bitter scoff coughs out of him, and he’s almost ashamed he didn’t catch it. But it’s too late. “What about you?”

Beneath the crowd’s noise, Yaldabaoth falls quiet. “What?”

“ You’re the grail... “ Akira starts slowly. “They’re the source of your power. Without them, what are you?” he whips his head away, closes his eyes against the pulses that pound against his brain. “You call yourself a God, but if you run out of faith, you stop existing.”

Silence filters between them.

He distantly hears the sound of footsteps and he wants it to be over.

Let him rot back in his cell.

Let him be pitied by Lavenza, wherever she may be.

“ If I didn’t need you, I would have let you crumble to dust that day.”

A hand hooks in the back collar of his shirt, and Akira is expecting to be wrenched to his feet again. Maybe get an extra backhand for his troubles. But then something sharp and narrow digs into his back and he yelps in discomfort.

The sound of tearing fabric splits his ears.

The cold air spills onto his exposed skin.

He gasps flailing underneath whoever Yaldabaoth chose as his meatsuit. His shirt is torn down the middle, the fabric peeled from his back. “What are you doing--?!” and he tries to move only to find his body unresponsive, molding to whichever way Yaldabaoth desires.

As if the very fight has been drained away.

Akira’s turned onto his back, and he’s no longer looking at the face of the abusive interrogator.

“ Fear can be used to control. But it’s not as exciting as your look of betrayal when I took on this body.” Yaldabaoth says through Yusuke’s voice. His body. 

Yaldabaoth is wrong.

He’s scared, and that fear alone freezes his limbs on top of whatever sick spell was keeping him immobile. But he doesn’t look when Not-Yusuke’s powerful hands tear what remains of his shirt.

“ You drove them to exhaustion…”

His sleeve tears down his forearm.

“ You sold their freedom…”

Utter humiliation spills across his face and down his neck.

“ All because you didn’t want to let go. Because you didn’t want to be alone and go back to the child you were before I gave you the Metaverse.” Yaldabaoth sneers, and when his fingers grip the loose waistband, Akira cries out in frustration.

_ Please no, stop, don’t do this _ \--

“ But what you don’t know, trickster, is that you were always alone.”

His teeth clamp down on his tongue and his vision blurs from unshed mortification. He isn’t even granted the liberty of covering himself when his pants are ripped and torn as Yaldabaoth wrestles them off his hips and down his legs. And against his will, he screams, shuts his eyes and hopes to whatever celestial being that was out there that he’ll wake up from this horrible nightmare.

This is not even the act of disrobing more than it is rendering them to disfigured ribbons of black and white striped clothing.

Whatever grips his limbs lets go and he curls in on himself, tucking his legs against his chest and burying his face against the cool ground. It’s a little comfort against his heated face. He trembles violently, shame beating into him harder and faster when the words of the prisoners become coherent.

(“ _ This  _ is the leader of the Phantom Thieves?”

“ He’s just a child.”

“ No shame in this one.”

“ Look at him.”)

(Did you feel like a man when you pushed him?)

_ Don’t look at me. _

_ Don’t. _

As if to mock him, the remains of his shirt are dropped on his naked, shivering form. He clutches it closer.

“ But I thought you  _ wanted  _ to be noticed.” Yusuke’s voice blends with Yaldabaoth’s. It is something that does not belong nor should ever be. “Joker craved attention. Joker was free. Joker was the you that couldn’t be shown to society.” (Akira flinches when Not-Yusuke’s foot digs into his shoulder.) “Open your eyes: You’re getting exactly what you wanted.” There’s a pause between his words. “Or maybe I’m missing something…”

Akira freezes, heart lodging in his throat.

_ Missing what? What the hell does he mean? _

“ Yes. You love the attention, but you love your friends more than that.” he chuckles. “I wonder what they would say if they knew the truth. If they knew you sold them out of a choice. If they could see you now.” the pressure against his shoulder leaves and smashes against his head in turn. “But that is beyond my comprehension. Would they feel disgust? Worry? Or would they hate you for letting this happen?”

Akira’s voice explodes out of him. “What do you want?!”

Yaldabaoth steps harder and Akira’s cheek all-but bunches against his eye. “I want you to learn from this. I want you to realize there are consequences far worse than a public disrobing if you do not answer my call. And when I ask for you to give Saklas more power…” his foot twists in his hair with each word. “...you. Do. As. Told.”

The last thing he sees is the bottom of Its boot as he’s crushed back into unconsciousness.

.

..

He stirs awake, the afternoon sun high in the air, and there’s a pleasant breeze filtering through the parted window. Akira tries to move, but his body is oddly heavy. So he closes his eyes, allowing his mind to drift from one point to another. The thoughts tucked closely to the front of his mind — three targets in Mementos, buy supplies from Takemi, replace weapons at  _ Untouchable  _ — swing back and forth, but for the first time, he doesn’t care to act on them.

A sudden weight at the other end of his bed and he looks wearily. He tries to sit up, the name of this person on his lips.

“At ease, Akira.” Yusuke says, pushing him back gently.

When his fingers touch, a jolt of panic shoots through him, and Akira can’t fathom  _ why _ . It’s Yusuke. There’s no reason to feel that way. He presses the back of his hand to his scrunched eyes. “What happened?”

“An ambush.” Yusuke explains, his voice warm. “The Shadows were too strong. At Morgana’s orders, we pulled back. I’m afraid we were unable to reach even our first target.”

“We’ll go back later.” Akira mumbles.

He’s tired. So tired.

But he didn’t  _ feel  _ sore…

“Tomorrow.” Yusuke says sternly. “Allow yourself some rest.”

_ We can’t do that _ . 

It is when he teeters on the edge of sleep again does Yusuke’s voice break through his drowsy mind once more. He says something, but Akira can’t pry the words apart from one another. “What?” he clears his throat. “What was that?”

“I said: Do you trust me?”

Akira opens his eyes, confusion pinching his face into a frown. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Yusuke rises from the bed. He avoids Akira’s gaze. “I’ll leave you be.”

A protest weighs heavily on his tongue, but he is unable to push it free. It sits in his mouth before he swallows it too, filing it away for later. When he wasn’t so ungodly exhausted. 

‘ _ What could he have meant…? _ ’ but Akira isn’t able to think of potential answers when his conscious slowly slips through his fingers.

.

..

It’s quiet.

She chances a look at Akira, sleeping fitfully in the cell he’s always walked into when entering the Velvet Room. Yaldabaoth warned her to stay out of his affairs, but she knows what he did to his mind. She could not decipher his reasons, but she knows what he was trying to do. Emotions were a complexity for humans. For beings such as her or a God, they were harder to break down.

Yaldabaoth wanted to know. How could a God rule over its people if He did not understand their desires? How could He provide for them?

Akira’s prison garb is mended, as if it was never torn in the first place. Simply because it had not been. It never was... was it?.

“Do you wish to help him?” Yaldabaoth’s voice floats to her from the center of the room.

Lavenza doesn’t grace him with an answer.

“You can. You tried to before, so what stops you now?”

She turns, eyes narrowing dangerously at the Death arcana pinched between his middle and forefinger. The faux demon that wears her master’s faith should not be able to pluck out invisible bonds and feed them to a Persona, but He did. As she is now, she would never be able to fight him. For as powerful as they were, an Attendant was simply that: An Attendant. They were not Gods, but they were not humans. 

What were they?

“It is taboo to interfere with the bonds made between people.” Her voice is steel, and she speaks of something that she’s not entirely sure  _ is  _ taboo. But she’s running on empty, and if she can distract him from pulling more, she would.

Yaldabaoth does not move. “I have done nothing, Lavenza.”

“That is an arcana, is it not?” she challenges. “His first was offered willingly… the others were not given consent.” Anger curls in her gut, and she takes a step forward, fingers iron around the edge of the grimoire. “What are your intentions, Yaldabaoth?”

And for once, He looks contemplating. As if He  _ will  _ give a suitable answer… 

The corner of the false Igor’s lips turn down, gaze averting to the ceiling. “Do you feel that?”

She did. She senses their power from layers and layers under.

“It seems we have some visitors…” Yaldabaoth looks to Saklas, who had done a marvelous job of staying quiet for the entire ordeal.Its body shines and dissolves, splitting into fractals of light before materializing as pure, white energy. With a wave of his hand, Yaldabaoth sends it to the front of Akira’s jail. 

Lavenza watches silently, nerves alight the longer it remains immobile. She can reach into the minds of other Personas if she wanted to, but she can do nothing with this one. She can’t find its respective arcana. She does not know its reasons for fighting.

Yaldabaoth chuckles. “Be a dear and take care of them for me.”

Saklas sinks through the bars and melts into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Forced kissing  
> 
> * Shameful stripping


End file.
